The past is another country
by happycat12
Summary: Spooks characters return to another time and place.
1. Chapter 1

_This is completely AU. Characters from Spooks but set in 19th Century India because I like the time period. I will be introducing other characters in later chapters. _

**April 1857: Delhi, India**

Miss Ruth Evershed picked up her notes from her desk and opened her parasol to protect herself from the fierce blast of heat she anticipated upon stepping outside. Her notes she tucked securely into her travelling case, acutely conscious of the fact that it was her responsibility to see that Major Harry Pearce's military intelligence did not fall into the wrong hands through an absence of proper care on her part.

As his private secretary for the past two years, she had grown increasingly knowledgeable about military matters. Before that she had served as the librarian at his Elizabeth Street house, so had come to the role with a great deal of learning, but of the purely academic kind. But in this position she had felt able to expand her knowledge so that she now had a greater insight into motivations of man and to the machinations and intrigue of politics and the uneasy colonial environment.

Her eyes took a moment to accustom to the brightness of the light outdoors. Delhi had always had colour, and bustle and brightness. She found it's spirit invigorating, infectious even. It was easy to forget that India was deeply troubled at this time, awash with unrest and simmering tension, something the correspondence she received from the regions from officers in the British army confirmed on a daily basis.

As her thoughts returned to work, she wondered once again whether she had been correct in her decision to stay in the city. A couple of her friends had already left India, packed off by their husbands for England, as military men talked in hushed tones of a native disquiet. But she had stayed, finding it quite impossible for some reason to think now of separating herself from the Major.

She sighed. She must give up thinking of work now, the sun was still high in the sky and she should enjoy the daylight while it lasted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Zafar**

"Sahib, there is a man to see you. An Angrezi."

Zafar Younis turned to look at the youthful messenger who stood hesitantly at the bedroom door. The boy was clearly nervous to have to disturb his slumber so early in the morning.

"Do you wish to receive him, Sahib?"

Zafar pulled himself upright in the bed, then nodded. "Jee nahin."

"Shukriya," he added, smiling to show his thanks, then waving his hand to indicate the boy was free to leave.

Five minutes later he was dressed in time to receive his visitor, albeit with a casual disgregard for the orderliness of his hair that would surely have displeased his mother.

His guest was pacing the floor, his brows furrowed and his hands clasped behind his back.

The early morning sunshine caught the light in Adam Carter's hair and Zafar smirked at the thought that Captain Carter's appearance matched so precisely his reputation as the golden boy of the Third Bengal Light Cavalry.

"Adam," he greeted him with a warm smile and a handshake. "Will you take tea?," he questioned.

His friend shook his head abruptly, "can't stay I'm afraid," he replied promptly. "I've news from the north. Ambala. Several of the British officers houses were burned down and the sepoys were on the brink of revolt. Fortunately, General Anson managed to calm the mood, but it's not an isolated incident. In Agra and Allahabad similar arson attacks have occurred on British residences."

He continued grimly, "There's trouble coming and I'm afraid it will soon be too late for us to avoid. And most of the troubles we brought on ourselves through our own stupid pig headedness," he added, his voice rising with frustration. "Do the British Army never think of the consequences of their actions? Did they never consider that ordering new rifles which are greased with the pork or beef fat and ordering native Hindus and Muslims troops to use them would cause offence?."

Zafar nodded. "The resentment will continue until the Enfield rifles are withdrawn. Does the army not see that?," he questioned.

"They do not," Captain Carter replied sharply, running his hand over his face tiredly, "Though it is blatantly obvious to anyone with even a modicum of common sense. I fear we are walking blindly towards a disaster of our own making and it is India that will suffer the consequences of our actions."

There was a heavy silence as they both looked at each other, contemplating Adam's words.

By all accounts, the two of them should not have been friends, as they came from such very different worlds – Zafar the son of a conservative well to do Muslim family, and Adam a politically radical yet superbly talented officer in the English Army. Yet friends they were, and had been since meeting two years ago, and finding, that despite their backgrounds, they had a great deal in common, including a love of shooting, high spirited hijinks, beautiful women and a shared devil may care attitude.

And they both cared about the future of India. Zafar's family had no love of the English, but he himself took a more pragmatic approach. The English brought money and education to the country. He hoped eventually that India would achieve independence and rule itself. But the way to achieve that was by political means and through the education of the people. Trying to push the English out through violence could only bring disaster upon India, for they were the greatest Empire on earth, and he was under no impression that the British would be prepared to tolerate violence against their own people.

"Anyway," Adam continued, his voice level now. "What I came to ask you was whether you had heard anything – or seen anything – here to make you concerned?"

Zafar thought for a moment. "Nothing specific, but there is a tension in the villages that was not there a few weeks ago," he replied slowly, feeling uneasy.

Adam nodded, "thank you for telling me. I must go now."

"Khuda hafiz," Zafar replied, bidding him goodbye in the traditional manner. "Take care of yourself, my friend," he added, softening the formality of his words. "And look to the welfare of your family."

Adam frowned. He was not afraid of whatever was coming, but he could not be so careless where his younger sister Joanna was concerned.

He stepped forward and shook Zafar's hand, clasping his hand in his then turned towards the door to make for Delhi.


	3. Chapter 3

"Any sign of Adam?," Major Pearce asked irritably.

"Not yet," Ruth replied evenly, "I expect he'll be back soon."

"Hmm, I should hope so, he was supposed to be here yesterday, so he's quite late enough already."

"Well, there's plenty of correspondence to occupy you in the meantime," Ruth began, stepping forward to place some letters on his desk.

"This one is from Captain Simpson who reports that he requires additional horses for his men, that they have now reached Sikandrabad and that one of his men has deserted his station and is believed to be heading for the cooler climate of the hills in the company of a Hindu dancing girl."

"Lucky devil," Major Pearce muttered, as he wrested with his uniform collar, which he found quite insufferable in this heat.

"Yes, well, er - I've taken the liberty of writing a reply authorising the purchase of five horses which requires your signature," she added, pointing to the spot where he should sign.

Major Pearce stopped figeting with his collar for a moment to pick up the pen, signing obediently where he she had indicated.

"And Lietenant Howse says that he will be in tomorrow at nine to update you on their intelligence from Duryai."

"Your tea," she added, pouring him a cup and setting it down on his table.

"Thank you Ruth, you're a marvel."

"And remember the General will be here in around twenty minutes, so you'll have to have rebuttoned your collar by then," she added sweetly.

"Yes," Major Pearce replied, his face a picture of irritation, "I hadn't forgotten that stuffed shirt will be here imminently, though God knows I'm not in need of another lecture on the subject of the glory of the British Empire or on..."

He paused as a tap on the door interrupted his train of thought. "Yes," he called, "come in."

The door opened to reveal a distinctly dishevelled looking Captain Carter. "Adam," Ruth exclaimed, "you do look terribly exhausted. Can I get you some tea?"

Adam nodded, striding towards Harry's desk . "I've ridden here all the way from Patwari and the heat is something fierce."

She hurried to fetch him a cup of tea while shaking her head. How typical of Adam, she thought to herself – he insisted on pushing himself to the brink of physical exhaustion, yet nothing would deter him from completing a mission.

"Sit," Harry indicated. "What news?"

"In the north. the troops nearly staged a revolt at Ambala. Arson attacks on British residences also occurred, and in Allahabad and Agra similar incidents took place. Lieutenant Mackenzie reports curious movements amongst the native population. All of the movements follow the same pattern, a man moves from his village to the next, taking with him chapatti. Once he has visited the village he returns, but then a man from the next door village appears in another town with the chapatti. They appear to be covering the country. "

Harry sat back in his chair, resting his fingers together to form a steeple. "It is hardly likely that a man would walk several miles to offer another man a piece of bread unless it has some value attached to it. Do the chapatti have messages inside perhaps?"

"We have not been able to obtain one of these yet, but it seems possible," Adam replied, nodding.

"Regardless of whether or not they have messages inside there is clearly communication being passed across the country by this method." Ruth had appeared silently at the door with Adam's tea. She moved forward to place it on the desk in front of him.

Harry nodded, and Adam agreed, "true. That enough is cause for concern."

Ruth would have liked to stay and participate in their conversation, but she did not as a rule remain in Harry's meetings unless he asked her to stay. So, instead she left the room shutting it quietly after her.

In the reception area, she attempted to give her attention to the Major's accounts, but as so often occurred during the hazy heat of the late afternoon she found her attention wandering. This time she found that her focus was distracted from matters of accounting to a quite improper fixation with the glimpse of the Major's chest his loosened collar had provided.

It was as she found herself distracted with such pleasant day dreams that she was rudely interrupted by the arrival of General Horace Smythe – Bottomly. As usual the red faced General was accompanied by a thoroughly cowed looking Corporal, who followed meekly behind him.

Ruth had long learnt that it was to fruitless to expect acknowledgement of any kind from the General. Instead he barrelled into Harry's office, his impressive moustache giving him the appearance of a giant red and white striped walrus with a mission.

"Pearce," he barked, "have you no seat for me," he finished, looking disparaging at Adam who occupied the chair opposite Harry."

Adam suppressed his smile and arose in one elegant movement,"You must accept my apologies General for I am have matters to attend to. Major Pearce will be able to update you on the situation."

He shot Harry a sympathetic glance, knowing full well that whatever he said was most likely to be overruled by the Major who through sheer force of personality managed to dominate others quite completely.

"General," Harry began, as he fiddled with his collar. "Will you take tea?" he began.

The General eyeballed him, then exclaimed loudly, "no time for tea Pearce. We have an Empire to run. Why I did not get up at five this morning so that I could take tea and indulge in namby pamby chit chat about the weather or other such womanly pleasantries."

He continued, clearly becoming increasingly pleased with the sound of his own voice, "actions! Actions Pearce. That is what this army is founded on. That is what our Empire is founded on."

He leaned forward to poke Harry in his chest, "I doubt you would have found that the British Army were taking tea while they were routing those devious Frogs at Agincourt or defeating the Spanish Armada. No they were not, Pearce. Indeed they were not."

Harry nodded and concealed his irritation with a smile, "Indeed sir. In fact the excellence of your observations is such that I shall make a note of your words in the hope of using them to inspire my troops."

Harry continued, "While the Empire that is built on action is no doubt great it has come to our attention that there are number of indications that our native troops may not be wholly loyal to our cause, and we have word of some alarming disturbances from other towns. In Ambala and in two other towns British residences have been burned and in Ambala the troops were on the brink of revolt."

"Pearce," the General interrupted. "I find these reports to unnecessarily alarming. The simple truth of the matter is that the native has not the initiative to properly rebel from the British."

He leaned back stroking his moustache, as he continued to expose his views, "his natural instinct is to follow the white man. He is like a child – he needs guidance from his superiors. And, like a child, occasionally he may display a temper, but such tantrums are fleeting. The Hindu lacks the capacity to conceive and execute a rebellion as you are suggesting."

"But General," Harry began, hoping to influence his views on the this subject, but knowing from experience it was unlikely, "the pattern of these incidents has me and several of my officers convinced that there are genuine grounds to be concerned that uprisings may be planned which could threaten the British position in this country and indeed the lives of -"

"Nonsense," the General interrupted firmly. "The natives have no reason to be discontented. The British have brought prosperity to this country, the railway, schools and civilization. It is quite impossible that anything will come of these incidents."

He continued, "I have not the time for these conversations. Action! That is my calling. That is what an army man is built for. My horse is in need of some proper exercise and I have to inspect the guards stationed at the Fort."

The General headed for the door, his moustache twitching as he strode. His silent Corporal followed him, almost bumping into the General as he paused to impart one final thought before exiting the room.

"My advice to you Pearce is simple: less thinking, more action. That is the basis of a great man."

Harry sighed and slumped in his desk thinking to himself that surely there must be some obscure place in the Empire looking for an action orientated dictator. It was a pity his contacts at the Foreign Office could not arrange it for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lucas : Kabul, Afghanistan - April 1857**

Captain Lucas North stretched his long legs and exhaled a puff from his hookah, affecting a disinterest in the chatter around him. Dressed as he was, in native costume, his presence attracted no particular attention and he felt quite at home in this setting.

He had grown up in Rawalpindi, some two hundred miles to the East of the city, across the Indian border.

His father had been an Anglican missionary and had been active until his death some ten years ago, and his mother the daughter of a Somerset Baronet. Though she fervently supported her husband's work, the climate had been too harsh for his delicate mother, who had not survived even twelve months after his birth. His father had remarried when he was four to the daughter of a wealthy Punjabi trader he had recently converted and he had come to love his pretty dark eyed stepmother, as if she were his own mother. A year later his younger brother Henry had been born, then his sister Ava and finally another brother Janif.

Rawalpindi, was one of the oldest inhabited cities in Northern India – so old in fact that the nearby town of Taxila could claim to have been home to a university for over 2,000 years old – having been founded in the fifth century BC. In his mind Rawalpindi would forever be a bustling cosmolitan city. In the winter the climate was pleasant but the summer months were unbearably warm and the only respite from the hot wind which blew through the streets was to be found in the cool of the covered garden courtyard where he and his brothers had retreated to splash about in the mosaic lined pool which stood in its centre.

At the age of thirteen, he had been sent to England to attend boarding school and had then enrolled in a military academy before returning to the east at the age of 21. At that time British and Russian forces were engaged in a conflict in Afghanistan and his knowledge of the east had quickly meant that he had been deployed to gather military intelligence. During his time under cover he had become fluent in Russian and had gained a fair command of both Pastho and Dari.

After two years in Afghanistan he had moved east to India and had been stationed in Delhi. His talent and intelligence had seen him promoted through the ranks to reach the rank of Captain. He had spent ten years in India and then, four years ago, war had broken out once more with the Russians, this time in the Crimea.

What had begun as a petty argument over who had access to the Holy lands had escalated into a full scale conflict in which the British and the French had aimed to check Russian expansion into the Middle East. After several months of fighting things had quickly deteriorated into chaos – the supplies and medical facilities needed to support the troops were completely lacking and the result was that many young soldiers lost their lives. The most infamous example of the military ineptness which characterised the Crimea was the infamous Charge of the Light Brigade, in which a British cavalry regiment had been called to charge against Russian lines. They were hopelessly outnumbered and had been mercilessly mowed down by Russian artillery.

Lucas had seen eighteen months service in the Crimea, again working under cover to gather information on Russian movements, before being captured at Sevastapol and imprisoned by the Russians. He preferred to forget the year he had spent in a Russian camp, and instead remember Elizabeta, his Russian bride. He had married her five months before being imprisoned, but once he had been released from prison he had been devastated to learn that she had taken ill during an outbreak of typhus and had died some six months earlier.

Stricken with grief he had thrown himself into his work, taking up the offer to work undercover in Afghanistan in order to keep watch on Russian ambitions. India was far too great a prize for the British to permit the Russians to extend their influence ever eastwards and as the war had not settled that question, his job was to see that that did not occur.

His skin tanned from the sun and dressed in native costume, he found he had little trouble passing for a local Pasthun. The tall light skinned race that inhabited the hills and plains of Afghanistan and the north west corner of India were noted for their distinctive green and blue eyes. From his youth in Rawalpindi he found it easy to copy the gestures of the Pasthun peoples and affect their mannerisms.

Though it was not yet ten o'clock in the morning, it was already oppressively hot, and he put the hookah down and ordered a glass of tea.

At a neighbouring table, one of the occupants engaged him in conversation about the weather, noting that the farmers would rejoice if only Allah would see fit to bring rain.

Lucas nodded, "Rain would be a blessing, if Allah would indulge us - Peace be upon him," he added, bowing his head.

The Afghans he found a friendly, hospitable people, generous to a fault with guests, but intensely defensive of their families honour and their livelihood. Life here was harsh and the people had to be tough to survive in the extremes the climate presented.

After a few minutes conversation he stood up, nodding politely to his neighbours and made his way to the door, making a note that there was nothing yet to concern him to file in a report.

Perhaps, after the tumult of the past four years, here in Afghanistan he would find himself finally able to relax.


	5. Chapter 5

**11 May 1857, Delhi: Joanna**

"Coming Jo?"

Celia Burnham grinned at her impishly and twirled her parasol as she waited for her friend to make her way towards her.

Miss Joanna Carter had been contemplating the view at the Burnham's residence from within the shade of the gazebo. In the late afternoon sun, the scent of frangipani and rose lingered in the air. The garden was awash with colour - brilliant purples and pinks, vibrant yellows and reds, the flowers swaying gently in the breeze. At the edge of the garden she could see the lush green of the jungle and beyond that lay Delhi's plains, baking in the heat of the dry season.

It was pleasant to visit the Burnham's. Here at the edge of the city, one could forget the noise and bustle and poverty that were hard to escape in central Delhi.

When Jo caught up to Celia she took her extended arm and linked it with hers, thankful of the shade Celia's parasol provided. Though she was dressed in a short sleeved muslin dress, it was still fearfully hot with the layers of petticoats and undergarments she had on.

"I'm sorry I've been tardy," Jo apologised. "I expect you'll need me inside."

Following afternoon tea, she knew that a round of charades had been planned, but had taken an opportunity to slip outside for a few minutes.

"Quite," replied Celia comfortably. "And don't think you can escape from charades Jo. You've rather a talent for it and having Priscilla Hodgkinson and Jonny Sinclair on the other team is fearsome competition."

"Oh lord," sighed Jo, "are those two together on your mother's team? We shall surely lose. It is so tiresome how Priscilla always has to be the centre of attention. My brother Adam always makes a quick exit whenever she appears for she has set her cap at him in a rather blatant fashion."

Celia giggled, "yes, I did notice the way she made for him with all speed at the Gardener's ball. She quite cut poor Mr Worth who she was speaking to in her haste to get to your brother."

They had almost reached the door when it seemed as if all hell suddenly broke loose inside the Burnham's residence. The soft murmurs of polite conversation were replaced with the sound of hysterical screaming and wailing.

They stood quite still for a moment, frozen with horror at the sounds inside.

Then Celia fell back, her face a picture of fear, as Jo moved forward. "Jo," she muttered, clutching at her arm, "don't go."

Jo prized Celia's hand off her arm and spoke to her in a whisper, "stay here and be quiet. Or better still find someone to hide. I'll find what's happening."

Celia nodded, her lips white and pinched and then she turned and began to run.

Jo moved towards the window and stared, transfixed with horror at the scene inside. The party had been invaded by a dozen or so Indian sepoys with bayonets, and the sitting room was a vision of bloody chaos.

Already many of the guests had been stabbed and the floor was peppered by pools of blood. The few men who had been amongst the party were the first victims and had been ruthlessly bayoneted as they tried to defend the women and children. The women had been next, crimson bloodstains spreading across the frills and flounces of the ladies dresses as they lay dying on the floor. Worse still there were still half a dozen women and children alive amongst the carnage, the ladies clasping little children to then and dodging here and there, screaming hysterically as they dashed about, trying to escape the grim fate that awaited them.

Her heat began to beat uncomfortably fast, and she felt a wave of pure terror wash over her. It was then that her brother Adam emerged from a side door, creeping silently along the verandah while holding a toddler. His spare hand firmly gripped that of an elderly lady with a tear stained face and trembling hands. Behind him was another younger women with a baby, her expression one of complete shock, her face ghostly pale.

Adam saw her and motioned to her to join them, "It's the sepoys," Adam said grimly, whispering. "They've mutinied. And if it's happened here, most likely it's happening throughout the rest of Delhi."

His expression was deadly serious.

"If they find us they will kill us, like they are killing everyone inside. Our only chance is to get away into the jungle."

He turned to his group of followers, speaking quickly but quietly, his voice conveying the urgency of the situaion. "If you want to live, you will need to do as I say. When I say go we will run towards that hedge," he indicated, pointing, "then get down on the ground and crawl single file towards the jungle. You take the baby Jo," he added.

She shook her head. "No, you take them now Adam, I have to find Celia."

He grabbed her before she could move, his grip like a vice. "If we dally you'll be dead. There is no time for Celia. You have to come with us, I'll not let you get cut down like the others" he finished, pulling her along with them as they ran for the hedge.

She wanted to argue but Adam was her older brother. She had always followed his command and trusted him implicitly. So instead she tried to put any thought of Celia from her head and do as she was told.

When they reached the hedge, Adam hissed at them to get down, pulling the older lady down with him. As she fell to the ground, she heard a sound that sent a chill through her spine. The click of a door opening and the clatter of boots on the verandah as the sepoys made their way outside.


	6. Chapter 6

**Harry: Delhi: 11 May**

The morning of the eleventh of May started uneventfully enough. As usual his dog Scarlet greeted him excitedly that morning. As usual Ruth brought him his tea and helped him with his correspondence, until she left at 12 to return to his house to oversee preparations for the dinner party he was to hold that evening for several officers and their wives.

It was only after one that things began to differ from the usual. The first indication that today was to be no ordinary day came with the arrival of Private Tobias Cole who burst into his office as he was taking luncheon. Private Cole was noticeably upset, his brow beaded with sweat, and stammering so badly that it took the poor boy fully ten minutes to get his story out once Harry had instructed him to sit down and compose himself.

Harry listened with increasing alarm to the news that hundreds of native troops from the nearby camp at Meerut had entered the city of Delhi and were gathering support for an attack on the British. He had seen over a dozen British officers slaughtered and they had now made it their mission to break into British bungalows and murder the inhabitants in order to rid their country of the foreign invaders.

Harry suddenly thought of Ruth, alone with his housekeeper at his place, a prominent whitewashed building well known as his private residence, and his attention faltered for a moment and his throat went dry.

Once the initial report came in, things quickly escalated. Within twenty minutes three further officers arrived bearing further grave news – the Chief Magistrates' residence had been broken into and he had been murdered, Christian shopkeepers premises were being ransanked and there were reports that several families had been murdered in their homes.

Upon hearing this last news, Harry slammed his fist into his desk angrily.

The city was under siege and the very men they had fought alongside were now their enemies. No one was safe and worst of all this could have been prevented if only the British command had exercised some common sense.

And where his orders from the General? Any right thinking man would have ordered the remaining residents into the protection of the army. From an advantageous position on the city's hills the reserves of European troops could be massed to give at least some hope of defending the remaining British residents as best they could, though they would surely be outnumbered four to one by the sepoys.

He had questioned the men as to whether they had received any orders to that effect but no instructions had been given.

Before the last officers to arrive left, he issued the pair of them with instructions that they were to go to his house and there collect his housekeeper and Miss Evershed . The other officers he issued with similar instructions to visit other European houses. Once they had collected the inhabitants they must make with all haste for the fort overlooking the city.

And then he was forced to untether his horse and ride to the General's residence himself, a process which wasted a further twenty minutes of his time. He was well armed, but even so, it was clearly unsafe for any European to be on the streets as several natives would obviously have liked to harm him were it not for the quickness of his horse on the dusty streets.

The door had been broken down and the place ransacked but the sight that met his eyes filled him with disgust.

The General's florid form was slumped at his desk snoring loudly and reeking of alcohol. No wonder the Indians had spared him. What hope did the British have if their commander was rolling drunk and it was only 2pm?

He stepped back outside into the light and steadied his horse. There was hardly a moment to lose. The fate of every Englishman, woman and child in Delhi now rested on his shoulders.


	7. Chapter 7

**Adam: ****May 11, Delhi. **

It was at precisely this point that Adam was intensely grateful that his military training had prepared him for a situation like this.

He turned his head to see three sets of terrified eyes watching him as the women lay on the ground. He leaned across to pick up the baby, holding it in his arms and then stuffed his handkerchief into its mouth. It would still be quite capable of breathing, whereas they would soon be dead if its tiny mouth let out a wail.

He raised his hand to signal that they should follow him and crawl forward under the cover of the hedge. They began to edge their way towards the jungle as the sound of boots walking the length of the verandah accompanied them. He calculated there must be four sepoys on the porch from the sound of their footsteps. No doubt they would be heavily armed.

It frustrated him that, with the exception of Major Pearce, his commanders had refused to see this coming, inspite of all the signs. Had they taken the precaution of disarming the sepoys then the kind of bloodbath they had witnessed inside the house would not have been possible. It was fortunate that he and two of the ladies had been admiring the furnishings in the Burham's dining room and had been able to escape out the side door, else they too would have been victims.

After a few minutes they reached the point where the hedge finished. Beyond that the jungle lay some five metres away. Adam stopped and turned look at the women.

He pressed his fingers to lips indicating they were to keep quiet. He strained to hear whether all was silent. He could no longer make out any noise from the verandah. He cautiously peered around the side of the hedge. The soldiers were gone from there – thank God, but very likely still inside the house.

They had to take their chances. If they had left the house they would be safe, but if a group of soldiers were to emerge from the house into the grounds again they would very likely be found and murdered.

He turned to the women, and whispered that on the count of three they would make for the jungle. They nodded silently.

It was hardly a sprint for the ladies dresses and slippers were poorly designed for running, but they managed to make it into the jungle without attracting attention. Once they were under cover Adam instructed that they would need to keep going and head further into its depths.

* * *

"I don't believe that's how men of the Third are supposed to look."

Adam hauled himself upright, his eyes adjusting to the morning light, to see his sister looking at him, the sparkle in her eyes belying the solemnity of her expression.

"Your buttons are all muddy and your hairs got leaves in it and your breeches are quite torn at the hems. I think if General Smythe – Bottomly were to see you now he would be quite purple with apoplexy."

A night in the jungle had clearly left its mark. Adam turned to see Jo smiling at him and stifled a laugh.

Like most military men of little imagination the General set great store on keeping up appearances, but little on the quality of a man's mind, and had been known to discipline men for matters as trivial as missing buttons or unpolished boots.

"Well, it's fortunate for us all that General isn't here, then isn't it," Adam replied shortly, as he surveyed the sleeping forms of the other two women and the baby and turned his mind to the matter of what they should do next. Here in the depths of the jungle they were relatively safe, but the need to feed themselves presented a problem which would need a solution.

"Indeed it is," shivered Jo with distate, "I should hate to have to suffer through one of his rants again and be unable to get away on account of your career."

By some unhappy coincidence the General had taken a liking to her and declared that she reminded him of his favourite niece Isabella. Consequently she'd been forced to listen to accounts of topics as diverse as his personal vendetta against Napolean to his opinions on the laxness of British penal system which allowed criminals to be transported to the colonies instead of hanged for theft, at many more social gatherings than she cared to recall.

"Adam," Jo started, "I was thinking about what we could do next and I had an idea."

Adam turned to regard her with interest. His sister was far from silly and he was curious to hear what she would say.

"Hmm, I had an idea as well. You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

"It's a deal," she replied, grinning.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ruth: Delhi, 11 May**

"And here I think we should have some roses," Ruth indicated to the centre of the table as she and Mrs Hill, Harry's housekeeper made plans for the dinner party he was to host that evening.

"Red ones," she said decidedly. "I can get them from the garden this evening."

Mrs Hill nodded in agreement at her suggestion. The red would contrast nicely with the rich mahogany of the dining table. "I was thinking that they would look well in the Major's crystal vase – the one that belonged to his late mother," she added, fussing with the cutlery in order to see that it was perfectly straight.

"I like that idea Mrs Hill," Ruth agreed. "Could you remind me what is on the menu for supper please?"

"Well," began the housekeeper, "Ameera shall be doing a nice rice pudding, and also some mangos with caramel sauce. And finally of course I shall be making Major Pearce's favourite," she finished, leaning over to whisper conspiratorially to Ruth. "Chocolate mud cake. It's his one weakness."

Ruth laughed and nodded, "it sounds perfect. I shall look forward to it immensely. Now what else needs doing?"

"Well, I think-" started Mrs Hill, only to be cut off by the scaper of boots in the hall. "That is most peculiar," she began.

Ruth was frozen to the spot as she listened intently to the sound. She was about to grab Mrs Hill and tell her to hide under the sideboard table, where they might be obscured by the long tablecloth when she realised she was too late.

The door burst open to reveal two dark skinned sepoys, fully armed, regarding them with murderous intent.

Ruth paled and took Mrs Hill's hand, squeezing it tightly. So everything that Harry had feared had come to pass. The British were under siege and it seemed unlikely they would escape with their lives.

Ruth cleared her throat and began in what she hoped was a calm voice, though her hands were shaking immensely. "Can I get you gentlemen something to drink, or some sweets?" Gulab Jamun? Jaangiri?," she asked hurredly, trying to remember what was in the pantry.

She risked a glance at Mrs Hill, who was staring fixedly at the men, her eyes huge and sweat beading on her brow.

The elder of the two men, a tall fat fellow in his forties, shook his head dismissively, and began to prowl around the room examining its contents, occasionally swishing his sword from side to side, a move that seemed specifically designed to terrify them.

The opulence of the interior of Major Pearce's house seemed to irritate the man, for his face grew dark as his eyes fell on one treasure after another. He picked up the silver candlestick that she had purchased specially for the dinner party from one of the most expensive traders in the local bazaar. He turned it over, observing the rich rubies which adorned its base, then slammed it down.

"The Ferengi has stole from us," he exclaimed angrily, jabbing his finger accusingly towards them. "You have stole from us, Memsaab. Now we take back everything," he finished, waving his hands wildly around him as he spoke.

Ruth watched him warily, drawing closer to Mrs Hill. If they were to die here and now at least make it fast, she prayed. But she feared that these men would want to draw it out, to see them suffer.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, willing herself to calm down, to consider whether there was a way out of this situation. There was only one door out of the room and the way was blocked by one of the soldiers. Could there be any other means of escape she wondered?

When she opened her eyes a minute later her relief upon seeing Major Pearce standing silently outside the door with a pistol in his hand was almost indescribable. Major Pearce! He would save them. There was no one she felt she could put her trust in more firmly than Major Pearce.

She stepped to the side of the table and surreptiously picked up the candlestick and then returned her gaze to the soldiers. It would not do to give things away by staring at Harry.

A second later a shot rang out loud and clear and the older of the two sepoys fell to the floor, his body in spasm. There was a flurry of movement as the other man moved to get away from the man with the pistol and the ladies ran to the safety of the doorway. Once they were outside the room they heard another shot and then it was silent.

Ruth waited nervously outside until Harry emerged, his face weary and drawn.

He walked towards the ladies but all he could see was Ruth, pale and frightened but still alive, thank God. He pulled her to him for a moment, then just as suddenly put her away, remembering the impropriety of his actions in front of his housekeeper.

"It has started," he said, his words heavy. "Now that it has begun, the sepoys will hunt down any British without mercy. Our only chance it to stay together in the protection of the soldiers. We must get to the fort, and quickly," he finished.

He had no illusions that their journey would not be dangerous. The men he had sent to escort the ladies to safety were proof of that, for they had clearly been cut down on the streets somewhere, never making it as far as his house.

He eyed the ladies highly unsuitable attire. "Get those hoops off," Harry ordered. "You'll never be able to keep up in that ridiculous attire."

Ruth blinked, shocked at his suggestion, but as realisation dawned on her that they would have to make for the fort atop Delhi in this searing heat, she could see that what he was saying was sound advice. Hooped dresses were all very well for balls and tea parties, but hopelessly impractical for running in.

She quickly removed her hooped petticoat, and Mrs Hill followed suit, too shocked to argue.

Harry paused to head into the kitchen where he collected two carving knifes and handed them to the ladies without a word. "Follow me," he instructed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Ruth: Delhi, 11 May**

By the late afternoon, the wind was blowing hot and strong and the dust swirled through Delhi's streets.

Through the whirlwind of heat and dust, they could see only a few metres ahead of them and around every corner Ruth imagined they would stumble across a murderous sepoy who would put an abrupt end to their journey.

But Harry pushed them to keep their speed up, placing Ruth and Mrs Hill on his horse while he pulled them along by the reigns, ensuring they were little more than a passing blur to the few people still on the streets.

Within half an hour they had reached the fort which overlooked the city and there they found several hundred troops. It was a relief to discover that the sepoys hadn't murdered all of the soldiers yet, but she knew they would certainly be badly outnumbered.

She quickly sought out the shade of the high stone walls, and settled Mrs Hill on the ground, sitting beside her for a few moments as she caught her breath. She observed that there were a steady stream of British arriving at the fort, the ladies exhausted – the flounces of their brightly coloured summer dresses giving them the appearance of wilted flowers who had been exposed to too much sun and the men looking hot and dusty and in a sad state of dishevelment.

Here away from the streets and in the shelter of the fort, she was pleased to find the dust was much less problematic and she watched idly as Harry paced up and down the lines of troops, extracting information from one soldier after another.

He was clearly forming a plan, and he would need her support to execute it. She sat for a moment more, before pulling herself to her feet. It was still devilishly hot and she steeled herself for the full force of the sun.

"Harry?" she prompted, as she appeared at his side without warning. "What do you need me to do?"

He paused for a second to reel off a set of instructions and she nodded her understanding.

He smiled at her briefly and then caught her hand as she turned to leave. He pressed it against his briefly. She almost blushed at the gesture, for she couldn't recall him ever touching her before in such a personal way.

She looked up at him, wondering what he meant to say to her. He seemed almost at a loss for words as well, but then managed to murmer his thanks to her.

She smiled in return and headed for the soldiers. Though their situation was undoubtedly grave, that didn't seem to matter as long as Harry was by her side.

**Zafar, Patwari: 12 May**

"Ah!..."Ebn El Sharmoota!," Zafar began as he was rudely awakened shortly before midnight by a pillow banging over his head.

"Language," Adam replied primly, placing his hand over Zaf's mouth and smirking to himself as he translated the Arabic phrase into his own language, arriving at something like 'son of a bitch.'

"It's me - Adam. We need your help. You'll need to be quiet while I explain," he added, whispering.

Zaf sat up, rubbing his head and adopting an injured expression as he peered into the gloomy night trying to make out Adam's face.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that whatever it is you need my help with didn't require you to assault me with a pillow like that."

"Actually it did," Adam replied, contradicting him promptly. "I tried prodding you but you didn't stir."

"I won't apologise for the fact that I'm a good sleeper," Zaf replied truculently, then added, smiling to himself, "as it happens, I was in the middle of some rather pleasant dreams."

"The 72 virgins of paradise, I presume?" Adam asked dryly.

"Not virgins any more I'm afraid," Zaf replied, his teeth flashing white against the darkness as he grinned mischievously.

Adam snorted. "You'd best forget that. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't let you in," he stated with certainty.

Zaf was about to protest against this slur on his character, but Adam had already started speaking again, his words quick and his tone serious.

"The sepoys have broken in Delhi and have turned against us. They are killing the British in the cities – women and children too. I have to ask you if you will look after my sister and two other ladies?"

Zaf stared at Adam's shadowed profile, the confusion apparent in his voice. "They've broken! We hadn't heard here. Of course they may stay, and you as well. What kind of man would I be if I were to turn you out on to the streets to be slaughtered?"

"Thank you," Adam replied, leaning forward to clasp his friend's shoulder. He trusted Zaf implicitly and it meant a lot to him to know that his sister would be safe, at least for a while.

In the dark, Adam could see that Zaf's face was suddenly sombre and his eyes fixed on his.

"How bad is it?," he asked urgently.

"I fear that things are very bad, but I don't know for sure," Adam replied.

Zaf nodded, then pulling himself out of his bed to light the lamp.

He picked up the lamp and moved towards the door, indicating that Adam should follow.

"I will call for Soraya to fix you something to eat and you can tell me more. My servants can be trusted to be discreet. You and your sister must think of my house as your home now."


	10. Chapter 10

**Harry: Delhi, 11 May 1857**

"Sir – I've tried Lucknow and Cawnpore but neither of them have promised any relief, even though I said we was desperate for help like."

Private George Walker looked flustered and nervous, the words rolling off his tongue too quickly in his urgency to convey the situation. At eighteen, he was hardly more than a boy, having joined the army only five months ago. Nothing in his background growing up in the Somerset countryside had prepared him for a situation where he would find himself hunted, outnumbered and abandoned by his own army.

Harry eyebrows knotted together. It was not the news he had expected or hoped for, and it was certainly not they way he would have acted had he been in command.

Private Walker had been telegraphing the stations within range for help for the past twenty minutes, but though he could get through to four stations, none would make any promise of reinforcements. It appeared all of them were either in the grip of dealing with their own rebellions or too terrified that there were on the verge of similar mutinies to be willing to give up any soldiers to help the people of Delhi. It was a sad indictment on the British army that when the going got difficult, all its commanders cared about was saving their own skin instead of doing their duty. Even Meerut, the largest and best fortified of all the British stations had offered them no assistance.

"You're doing a good job, lad," Harry replied, forcing his face into a smile, though he felt like anything other than smiling. "Make sure you convey to them the gravity of the situation and that we urgently need their help."

Ruth was resting against the parapet looking down at the city beneath her. If she looked directly down the hundred metre drop made her feel dizzy, so she let her gaze roam further, scanning the streets for any sign of sepoys.

Her eyes fixed on a spot perhaps a half a mile away on the banks of the river she could see a crowd forming. She stooped to pick up the telescope she had borrowed from one of the soldiers and lifted it to her eye. She had been right to be worried – for a group of perhaps a two hundred sepoys could be seem gathered together yelling and shouting. To the west of the city by the gardens she picked out another group of men, and another in the bazaar in the city's centre.

As Harry's assistant she was well aware that of the nine hundred soldiers in Delhi, only a hundred were British. While not all of the other 800 would turn on them, and some would stand loyal, they were still horribly outnumbered.

She was caught up in her thoughts when she was startled by the sound of a colossal blast, which rumbled the very ground underneath them. In the south of the city, a massive fireball ignited.

"Good God! What on earth was that?," ventured one of the junior officers, bewildered by the sound.

Several of the soldiers and ladies rushed forward to join her on the wall. A hush fell over the fort as everyone watched in horror as fire consumed the slums on the city fringe.

Harry came forward to stand by her side.

"The arsenal," he stated. "Someone set the gunpowder stocks alight. There must be a thousand people in the shacks around the arsenal."

He lowered his voice so that it was only audible to her, "I'm afraid that their deaths will only fuel the rebel's sense of grievance."

Within a matter of minutes he was proven correct as Ruth observed that one of the groups of soldiers was making for the fort, shouting and pointing towards its walls. Ruth passed her telescope to Harry silently, her finger indicating to him the point he should observe.

Harry looked for a moment and then put down his telescope. He had made his decision.

The fort structure could not survive a continued onslaught, in places where the mortar was weakened it could be penetrated and they had not the provisions to withstand a siege anyway.

Delhi had fallen and could not be recovered with the handful of soldiers who had stayed loyal to them. They would have to take their chances and make for a British outpost.

His heart felt heavy as he surveyed the scene beneath him, the shimmering heat casting a haze over the sprawling metropolis.

So this was what it felt like to lose a city.


	11. Chapter 11

**Adam, Patwari: 12 May**

Adam, Jo and the two ladies sat down to supper of dhal and roti fifteen minutes later, the baby having been already put to bed. Unlike in an English house, the table sat low to the ground with cushions on the floor.

Jo was ravenous, as were the others and the meal was consumed with the intense concentration that comes from not having eaten for over 24 hours.

When they had finished, Adam sat back and rested his head against his hand for a few minutes before announcing that he would be going.

Jo turned to stare at him. "Going _where?_," she questioned, startled. "Not out there, surely? That would be madness."

Adam regarded her with a level expression for a minute, saying nothing while her heart began to sink. So he did mean to leave them, to venture out into the outside world.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that her brilliant, foolhardy, too clever brother would insist on playing the hero, but that didn't mean that she would let him leave without trying to reason with him.

Adam nodded, and stood up. "Yes, out there. It is my duty."

"But Adam you must see how very dangerous it is out there?" Jo replied, the passion in her voice making it sharp. "You are but one person against many who will be looking for your blood. You cannot do your duty if you survive only a few days."

Flora McDonald, the elderly Scottish widow who was one of the two ladies at the table, leaned over to Jo and patted her hand in a comforting gesture.

Adam shook his head, his voice firm, but gentle. "I know that it is difficult for you to accept but you must appreciate that the army didn't recruit me only to have me lose my nerve when they need my services most."

He began to walk towards the door, but was stopped by his sister's words.

"_Adam, please," _Jo pleaded, her voice breaking the silence that had fallen on the room as all eyes turned towards her. "You have to stay. Going out there is madness, you'll be – you'll be," she pulled herself to her feet, but choked off the rest of her sentence as Adam swiftly moved to draw her into his arms, pressing her head against his chest to comfort her.

"You'll be dead if you go out there," she added with finality in a hushed voice, her last effort to change her brother's mind.

He shook his head firmly and gently calmed her, telling her that everything would be fine. She clung to him until he had to prize her fingers from his hands and in those few minutes he half succeeded in convincing her that he would be fine. Part of her could not help but still see him as invincible, for he had been her brother, her friend, her confidante and her protector for every day of her twenty three years.

Zaf found himself averting his eyes as he waited for them to seperate. Adam and his sister were so similar as to be two halves of one whole - both of them had the same tall, slim good looking appearance, the same fair hair and blue eyes and there was a connection between them that was so strong it was almost palpable.

After a few minutes Adam stepped aside and shook Zaf's hand. Zaf clasped it firmly and wished him well. Privately he agreed with Jo that Adam's decision was foolhardy but he understood what it meant to do one's duty. It was difficult to let him friend go out into the world, but it was not his place to try to influence his actions.

As Adam left the house, his sister moved to the window to watch him depart.

In a matter of seconds he had vanished into the night.

Without him the world somehow seemed a much crueller and darker place.


	12. Chapter 12

**Ruth: Diwana, 12 May**

To Ruth the past twenty four hours had been like a horrible nightmare.

When it was clear that the city was lost, Harry had ordered that they were to make for Karnal. The town, some 70 miles north of Delhi, had a British base and Harry was confident that the Sikh Rajah of Jind who controlled the area would stay loyal to the British.

Harry had insisted that the British stay close and move forward together. After a few hours it was apparent why he had issued this order.

Some of the inhabitants of Delhi had left before them on foot and in carriages by the northern road out of the city. Many had failed to make it more than a few miles.

They had already come across three carriages which had been overturned, the inhabitants pulled from them to be robbed and then butchered. Those who had journeyed on foot had been no safer for she had had to avert her eyes several times from the sight of bodies strewn across the road and in the ditches, bloodied and mutilated.

She understood now that it was not just the sepoys who hated the British, it was the ordinary people too – those who her people had treated as servants, second class citizens, fathers and brothers who had had to watch as famine claimed the lives of their children and sisters and brothers while they the British selfishly dined in splendour on several courses a night.

Harry had procured a carriage for them and so she sat inside it, tightly pressed between Mrs Hill and the door. It was oppressively hot and airless and she could only imagine how difficult it must be outside for Harry and the other men marching in the heat of the day. One of the other ladies had begged her to leave the shade down so as to block the sun but Ruth couldn't stop herself from obsessively twitching the shade back a few inches every minute or two to peer outside.

Later in the afternoon her exhaustion overcame her for she had not slept that night, and her eyes began to droop until her head slumped down to rest against Mrs Hill's comfortably padded shoulder.

It was some hours later, in a state of sleepy confusion that she awoke to find Harry opening the carriage door and carrying her from the carriage into one of the rooms of the red stone palace they had arrived at.

Harry left her there and inside everything seemed at peace after the chaos of the past twenty four hours. A pretty doe eyed, silent servant girl with a dozen golden bangles on her wrist brought her a hot curry dish and on a side plate little sweetments.

Once she had finished she bade Ruth to turn around and unbuttoned her dress and undergarments and then she stepped into the cool, clean water inside the copper bath the sat at the side of the room, while the girl poured jugs of water over her.

She sat there for what must have been an hour and then finally got up. She pulled her white cotton petticoat and combed her hair, then pulled back the covers of the bed and sank into it.

She was almost asleep when she heard a knock at the door, gentle but insistent. "Ruth?"

She knew the voice without any need for him to identify himself – it was a voice which filled her thoughts at night and her foolish daydreams.

The door opened to reveal Harry as she stood facing him beside the bed. He looked exhausted and she saw now that he had been injured. She had slept through the skirmish which had seen their party attacked on the road and two of their soldiers killed as they fought off a group of Indians.

Harry had taken a knife to the ribs, but the wound was not deep and had avoided his internal organs.

"You've been hurt," Ruth stated, her eyes wide with fear as she drew closer to him.

He grimaced and touched his side where the blood had seeped through the hastily made bandage. "It's nothing serious. Takes more than a scratch to put down an old dog like me."

Though his words made light of his injuries, Ruth was more afraid than she cared to say. She sat down on the bed, suddenly, as if uncertain whether her legs would hold her any longer.

"I want you to stay with me tonight," she said after a moment, her mind made up. She didn't care for propriety or that they might only have a few more days on this earth. She just wanted Harry to stay with her.

She had thought that Harry might be surprised, even shocked by her words, but his face gave nothing away. Instead he moved forward to hold her and leaned into her cheek. "And I want you to stay with me too, my Ruth."

He moved to lie beside her gingerly and drew her towards his so that her head rested against his chest. She wondered briefly what would happen to them if they were to be discovered, her in a state of undress and sharing a bed with a man.

She found that for once in her life, she didn't really care about gossip or proper conduct. She only cared that Harry's arms were around her and that for the first time in her life she felt truly content.

She closed her eyes and smiled to herself as she drifted off to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Lucas : Kabul, Afghanistan – May 14 1857**

"Agha North, there is a man here to see you."

Lucas looked up from his breakfast to see Fayyaz, his lively young servant boy, standing on the threshold of his room, shuffling from one foot to the other uncertainly.

Lucas smiled at him and bade him usher the man in and requested that Aleena bring them tea.

A minute later Fayaaz returned with a white bearded gentleman clad in the traditional long tunic, pants and waistcoat of an Afghan, and then bowed to them both as he turned to leave.

"Salam," Lucas greeted his visitor with a handshake and beckoned him to be seated.

His visitor was known to him – in fact he could be called family, for he was Baseer Talim, a cousin of his stepmother who had settled in Kabul and owned a prosperous trading business in the middle of the city's bazaar. He had been a guest at Lucas' home several times since he had arrived in the city, but he was puzzled as to why the man would choose to visit him now, so early in the morning, when custom dictated that such calls be made later in the day.

"Salam," his visitor replied formally.

"Hal-e shoma che towreh agha?" Lucas asked politely.

The man replied that he was well, and enquired after the health of Lucas' stepmother and siblings.

Lucas assured him that his family were in good health and signalled to Aleena who had arrived to pour the tea for them both.

It wasn't until she left a few minutes later than Lucas was able to discover the intention behind his visit when Baseer leaned forward to take him into his confidence.

The old man had heard something that made him concerned. One of the other shopkeepers from the bazaar had boasted that he had sold three dozen rifles to two Indian sepoys and that he knew of another trader who had sold them a similar amount.

The old man, who was a wily businessman, was at a loss to explain why Indian soldiers, who he knew were already adequately provisioned with rifles by the British, should need to purchase them in such quantities. And if they needed weapons why did they not buy them in India rather than travelling across the border to do so?

Knowing a little of the unrest in India, having left the country only a few years ago, he said he feared that mischief was the cause of the rifle purchases and that his thoughts turned to young Janif. Janif, Lucas' half brother, had followed in his footsteps and joined the army and was now serving in Delhi, where he himself had been stationed for ten years.

Lucas listened to the story in silence, nodding with Baseer's conclusion.

When he was finished, he thanked him for his visit and warning as he got up to leave.

Baseer finished by saying that he hoped that the story would amount to nothing and that perhaps he was mistaken in thinking that there was trouble brewing.

Lucas nodded. "Enshallah," he replied, adding his hope that God willing, nothing would come of it.

But when he sat down to the table once more, he was convinced that there was no innocent explanation for the old man's report.

He had kept in touch with his colleagues in India and his brother enough to work out that, between the lines, India was in a state of unrest.

The only credible reason he could think of for Indian soldiers to travel to another country to purchase arms that they could have easily obtained in their own land was that they wished to avoid detection. And the only people who he could think of who they would wish to avoid detection from were their own superiors. The only logical conclusion he could arrive at was that rebellion was brewing in India. If it erupted it would do so in an unholy mess of Indian versus British, fuelled by warring factions of Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs.

He would have to write to his contacts in England and to Sevastopol, where there were remnants of the British army still stationed after the end of the Crimean war to warn them, though it would take several weeks for news to arrive.

But letters were no substitute for first hand intelligence. He had made up his mind that before the day was out he would be on his way south to cross the border into India.


	14. Chapter 14

**Harry: 15 May 1857, Karnal, North India**

"He says he can offer forty men for the cause on the condition that no British shall enter his lands in his lifetime or that of his sons and that you protect his lands from any usurpers," Ruth translated, looking from the swarthy turbaned Sikh Zamindah to Harry.

Harry forced down whatever twinge of conscience he felt at making a promise that he could not possibly guarantee in light of the expansionist aims of British foreign policy and nodded.

"It is agreed then."

"Haanji," Ruth translated, and the Rajah of Jind who had been standing to the side as the negotiations took place stepped forward looking pleased.

"We have now 600 men, four hundred of mine and two hundred of our friends," he stated, tapping his gold walking stick on the floor as he spoke, the ruby on his left hand flashing a brilliant red as the shafts of sunlight peeped through the palace windows.

Harry nodded. "It is a good start. We are most grateful for your support your highness. But we must continue to gather forces. We shall need a thousand men to retake Delhi."

The Rajah waved his hand airily at the Zamindah landowner in dismissal and turned to make his way towards his state room. Harry fell into step with him, but remained careful to stay a pace behind out of deference for the Rajah.

"It can be arranged," the Rajah replied smoothly, as though he had only to click his fingers for it to be sorted. Perhaps it was so. "My people have spent too long under the Moghul rule and have no love for it. They will be safer under the British."

He stopped and turned to nod to Harry as they reached the central courtyard area. "You must excuse me Major for I have some business to attend to."

"Of course, your highness," Harry replied promptly. .

He turned to see Ruth loitering in the distance at the far end of the courtyard and waited for her to catch up with him.

She wore a sprigged muslin dress with tiny blue flowers and the wind had whipped her dark hair loose from its chignon so that it fell about her face in little curls.

It reminded him that what he had most wanted to do over the past few days had been to kiss her, but he hadn't been able to. Perhaps after the rebellion was over, if they survived it, he would be able to ask for her hand. But now he had nothing to offer her and he had to focus on his job. Self control, self disclipline he reminded himself. These were the virtues he should aspire to.

After that first night, they had spent their nights apart. Miss Ellen Barrett had quickly moved in to share the room Ruth had used and Harry had been allocated the largest room in the guest quarters in honour of his rank.

He resolved that for the moment he must try to think less of Ruth and more of his duty. There were 77 British subjects with them at the palace. He must try to set aside his feelings that this one was more precious than all of them and focus on his responsibilities as a military man ought to.


	15. Chapter 15

**Adam, Meerut: 15 May 1857 **

Adam cursed under his breath as he paused to dab the sweat that trickled down his forehead and then readjust the cloth he had wrapped around his face back into place. It wasn't the fashion for men from here to cover their heads, but further north it was commonly done.

From a distance, in the dusk dressed in the native costume that his friend Zafar had handed him before he left the house and with his face smeared dark from a mixture of soil and water, he could pass as an Indian. But up close his disguise would be sure to arouse suspicion.

He had been careful to travel at night and during the day he would find somewhere to sleep where he would not be at risk of being discovered. His legs ached and he hadn't had enough to eat for the past two days, having had to survive on the rations he had been given by his friend, but he could ignore that.

But he was hopeful that relief would soon be in sight for he could see in the distance the city of Meerut. His mind wandered for a moment and he recalled the magnificence of the city's public gardens. In happier times he could recall playing cricket in the shade provided by the poplars on the green lawns against the soldiers of the third cavalry who had taken it upon themselves to employ devious tactics while his team had protested, "that's not cricket," to the umpire. After the game had finished they had retired to the gentleman's club to sip gin and tonics and eat sandwiches.

Meerut was the strongest of all the military camps and had the largest force of British troops. If anywhere in the Punjab could hold out against a rebellion, Meerut would be it. Having made it this far his job would be to alert the British command to the massacre at Delhi and request reinforcements to recapture Delhi.

He decided once he reached the city's outskirts that he would wait until it was dark to go in and crouched behind a wall for the best part of an hour until he judged in safe to enter.

He entered the city cautiously, walking quickly and carefully towards the regimental headquarters. It concerned him that he had not encountered one British soldier on his journey.

Though he was a seasoned soldier he was not prepared for the sight that greeted him when he reached the headquarters. Under the light of the moon he could make out that the courtyard was strewn with blood and bodies, the buttons of the men's uniforms glinting in the faint golden light. His fellow officers had been cut down where they stood by their own men. What was most sickening was the brutality with which they had been attacked. Heads had been separated from bodies and limbs severed from torsos. He could not count the number dead for there were too many. He was certain that those soldiers not on duty would not have been spared from this violent attack and that he would find many more bodies inside the European bungalows were he to visit there.

He turned from the scene, stumbling towards the courtyard wall and leaning against it, desperate to get away from the scene and the stench of death that accompanied it.

It wasn't until he had straightened up that he saw that he was being watched. Three sets of eyes regarded him levelly from the gates to the complex. He recognised them for they were sepoys from his own regiment. They were blocking the way out of the complex and he could only make for the gate on the opposite side of the courtyard. Too late he tried to run, to make his escape but his way was blocked by the bodies of his comrades.

The sepoys fell on him like wild beasts with their swords. He knew only the sharp pain and swift slice of a silver blade across his throat.

Silence engulfed the courtyard once more.

Death made one more visit to the stricken city of Meerut.

The blood pooled around Adam's lifeless body and spilled over to cover the uniform of the young soldier he had fallen beside in a crimson stain.


	16. Chapter 16

**Zafar: Patwari, 20 May**

Zafar Younis and Joanna Carter sat in the dining room of his bungalow, eating sweets and sipping tea. It was past ten and Mrs McDonald had gone to bed an hour ago.

It was not the first time they had stayed up late talking and Jo found that the longer she spent in the young man's company the more she grew to like and admire his character.

It was over a week since Joanna Carter had arrived in Patwari and the party Zafar was hosting was now noticeably smaller.

As he had expected Adam had decided that his duty lay with his fellow soldiers and had left to seek out fortune or oblivion with the men of his regiment. The departure of young Mrs Graves, however, he had not anticipated, though in retrospect perhaps he should have. The girl was clearly of a nervous disposition and lacked the capacity for reasoned thought, otherwise she could not have considered a decision to pack her things and leave with her baby in the middle of the night to be entirely sensible.

They had not discovered her departure until the next morning. One of his servants had reported she had left after midnight and when questioned why she had not said anything until the next morning the girl merely regarded him sullenly with her large brown eyes and replied that she could not be expected to understand the ways of the memsahib. Zafar had said nothing except to roll his eyes in exasperation and embark on a fruitless search for the lady in question.

Five days on from her disappearance Joanna Portman still felt a sense of guilt that she had not taken Lucinda Graves nervous chatter about the threat posed to her baby by the servant's of the house more seriously.

"I do wish that I had realised that she meant to leave the house," she sighed to Zaf. "It just didn't occur to me that she would do anything so silly. I know she felt uncomfortable in the house, but the dangers outside are so much greater for us now," she finished, sounding dispirited.

Zaf stretched his legs out and slunk back into his seat, shaking his head. "It was a foolish decision but it was one you could not have prevented, I'm afraid."

He tapped his hand on the table as his thoughts turned to considering where he might visit tonight in the city.

"What do you do when you go out at night?," Jo questioned, as if reading his mind. She had wondered what exactly he was up to, sneaking out surreptitiously so late at night, but until now she hadn't had the courage to ask. Whose side was he on exactly?

She was clear that he wouldn't hurt her, but she wondered if he, like many Indians, would be secretly pleased if the British were to leave.

"To the city," he replied. To his favourite haunt, where he could gamble and smoke hookah with his friends. Though he enjoyed his outings, these days his trips had a more important purpose than mere entertainment. Information. In the city news travelled fast. The conflict wasn't as simple as Indians versus the British. At least as many Indians had been killed as British – servants, Eurasians, Indian Christians had all been innocent victims of the conflict. And in India there were always underlying tensions – Muslim against Hindu, power struggles between various would be rulers that could spill over into violence given an opportunity such as this.

He had a family to think of – his mother and three younger sisters and two younger brothers, who lived perhaps ten miles from him. And then of course there were his servants, and Mrs McDonald and Jo. Though she wasn't his sister somehow she seemed the most important of all to protect.

"Have you managed to lose the family silver?" she questioned, her mouth quirking to the side.

Her brother had told her about Zaf's recreational habits.

He grinned then replied breezily, "Not a chance, I make sure to always win. And your brother has a loose mouth," he added as an aside.

"He did trouble to inform me that gambling and women are your weaknesses," Jo said gravely, repressing a smile.

He laughed out loud and grinned. He had always had a thing for pretty girls, and Jo was exceptional in that regard. He'd had to remind himself that she was Adam's sister and he would have to do the honourable thing by him and leave her alone. But he certainly wasn't above a little flirtation to pass the time, and decided to turn on the charm that came as naturally as breathing to him.

"Consider yourself warned then Miss Carter. If you offer to take me on at poker I don't know if I shall manage to resist, given that that would be combining my two vices."

"Actually I'm quite good at poker," Jo pondered thoughtfully. "Adam taught me when I was ten, though Mama would have had a fit if she'd found out. Not really the kind of accomplishment that young ladies are supposed to acquire, you understand."

"I suppose Adam taught you how to cheat shamelessly as well. He was always a sly dog when it came to cards," Zaf replied.

"Of course he did," she nodded enthusiastically, looking pleased with herself.

Zaf regarded her with surprise, then shook his head. She looked like an angel, and therein lay the trap he suspected. It would be too easy to be taken by Jo's innocent expression when in fact she was as sharp as they came.

Their tete - a - tete was interrupted by the sound of the front door being battered loudly, followed by that of a window being smashed. By the time they reached the door, three English soldiers stood in the doorway, rifles in hand, and reeking of ale.

It seemed the men had already decided to play judge, jury and executioner to her friend for only a moment after their arrival two of them men had Zafar in their hold, one forcing him to the ground, while the other assaulted him violently.

Jo tried to intervene on his behalf and separate him from the brutes but found herself overpowered.

When that didn't work she tried intimidation.

"My name is Joanna Carter and my brother is Captain Adam Carter of the Third Bengal Light Cavalry, and I require you to put him down Lieutenant. He has done nothing to warrant this treatment," she replied, noting the stripes indicating his rank. Her brother Adam was his superior and he would not allow his friend to be exposed to this kind of treatment.

After what seemed like an age one of the men got off Zaf and straightened up. "Your brother's rank does not concern me," he replied dismissively. He had himself met the great Adam Carter several times and it irritated him that one of their regiment should be so singled out for fame and glory as the regimental golden boy when there were hundreds of others who deserved recognition. "This man is a traitor to the Empire and must be taken for interrogation."

"I protest, sir," Jo replied, her face flushing pink with anger at the unfairness of it all as she looked at her friend's bloody face. Though she had wondered only a moment ago about Zafar intentions she felt quite sure now that he was not a traitor nor was he responsible for harming anyone. "You have no authority to take him from his home and no evidence to support your claim," she finished, crossing her arms as she moved to stand in front of her friend so that they could not remove him.

"Your protests do not concern me Madam," the lieutenant replied sharply. "We shall take him regardless of what your views are."

He took a step closer to her so that his face was close enough for her to feel his breath hot on her cheek. "And what is more you shall come with us to explain why you are consorting with a traitor of her majesty," he hissed before snapping his fingers to order his companions to hustle them both from the room.


	17. Chapter 17

**Zafar: Patwari, 20 May **

When he came to he was sitting in a windowless bungalow, his hands and legs tied together. His face was wet from where someone must have thrown water over him, but the room was stiflingly hot.

Two man sat behind a table, drinking and smoking while watching him with apparent indifference.

"About time," the Private started rudely, as he moved to pull him to his feet and drag him to sit in a chair opposite them.

"We hear you are an important person in the area," the officer begun.

Zafar shrugged, "I am nobody special."

"You lie," the officer replied, irritated by his reply. He moved forward, looming over Zafar in a threatening manner. "Enough of this chit chat. Tell us what you know."

Zafar felt his stomach turn at his words but he wouldn't let his fear know. "There is nothing to tell. I have had nothing to do with what has happened over the past few weeks. I do not wish to harm the British, I even have friends amongst the British."

He looked from one man to the other. The Private was rough, with bright red hair and a dirty unshaven appearance, the Officer tall, dark and elegant. But their faces were cruel, uncompromising. They had clearly been hardened to violence through their time in the army and were prepared to use whatever means were available to them to get what they wanted.

He had a sinking feeling that whatever they wanted from him was due to the activities of his younger brother Hassan. His brother had been an outspoken critic of the British and had always been impossibly headstrong even as a boy. Hassan had left his parents house some two weeks ago and had not returned. That was part of the reason why Zafar had taken to visiting the clubs in search of information on his brother's whereabouts.

The officer spoke, "Last week there was an attack upon the garrison. As a result of this the entire division was knocked out, except for a dozen or so men, such as myself and Private Willis here. Almost all of the colonial families living here have been killed also, women and children included. We have information that your family was involved in the attack."

Zaf did his best to look shocked, affecting an outraged expression and exclaiming loudly. "My family would never do such a thing. We had no involvement in this incident."

"The word on the streets of Patwari tells a different story," the lieutenant contradicted sharply, then turned to his companion. "It seems that we will need to apply some pressure to the gentleman to make him talk."

Zafar understood his meaning well enough. The men were seasoned soldiers and whatever form of pressure they decided to apply he was sure that it would be bad. But nothing they could do to him would make him betray his brother.

The officer surveyed him coolly, noting his silence.

"Very well then - let us begin."

xxxxxx

At first it was quiet in the house where they had been taken. Jo worried about what they had done with Zafar. Would they interrogate him, taunt him, beat him once more, she wondered. The silence was unnerving.

She sat alone in the little airless room with no windows where they had left her and thought about her friends. Celia, who she had abandoned to her fate at the Burnham's party, her friends from the theatrical society Jennifer Norris and Phillipa McCormack who had lived close to the army headquarters. Did this make them more likely to have survived the sepoy assault she wondered or would they have been the first to be targeted? And what about her friend Lily Newton, newly married and seven months pregnant? What hope did she have of surviving if she had been forced to escape the city? To think about all of the sorrows which had come crashing down on people so dear to her made her heart ache with sadness.

After perhaps an hour in the room, the screaming began. It was clear from the moment it started that they were torturing Zafar.

She tried to block it out by covering her ears with her hands but it only dimmed the pitiful noise. It seemed to go on and on for hours, but the watch on her chain told her otherwise.

After two hours the lock on the door turned to reveal the lieutenant standing at her door, smirking at her.

She wanted to hit him, but he was too far away.

Instead she asked the only question that had been on her mind – the same question that had been running through her head over the past two hours.

"Did you kill him?"

Again he smirked, but didn't reply. She made a sound which she didn't recognise but which was heavy with bitter defeat and put her hand against the wall to steady herself. A vision of Zaf's bloodied body smashed against the floor flashed through her mind and it made her want to vomit.

When she straightened up the lieutenant was beside her. His hands pressed her into the wall and unpinned her hair from the knot at the nape of her neck. This time she did hit him but he didn't seem to feel it or care. She struggled and screamed but he merely tightened his grip, his hands becoming firmer and his expression more determined.

Once he pinned her to the floor with one movement, the sound of her silk dress tearing from top to bottom to leave her exposed followed, confirming her fears that she was now living out her worst nightmare.


	18. Chapter 18

**Ruth, ****Karnal****: 22 May **

"So my younger brother joined the navy and he got himself into many a jam during his time at sea. I remember him saying to me that he'd had a grilling by the captain who asked him what he would do if a sudden storm sprang up on the starboard?"

"Throw out an anchor, sir," he replied.

"What would you do if another storm sprang up aft?," the captain asked

"Throw out another anchor, sir," he said.

"And if another terrific storm sprang up forward, what would you do then?" asked the captain.

"Throw out another anchor, sir."

"Hold on," said the captain. "Where are you getting all those anchors from?"

"From the same place you're getting your storms, sir," my brother replied.

Ruth leaned in towards Dr Peter Goodman and laughed. "He sounds like a clever young man, your brother."

"He was always a cheeky fellow, never had any respect for his elders, sadly," the handsome dark haired doctor replied, shaking his head. "Anyway I digress – I had been meaning to ask you if you would care to dance with me again Miss Evershed?"

Ruth smiled and nodded, "certainly, Doctor."

After the events of the past two weeks, it was such a pleasant relief to be somewhere safe and to be able to finally laugh and relax amongst friends, Ruth reflected as they walzed together. It was extremely thoughtful of the Rajah to permit the British to hold a dance in the great hall of the Palace tonight and to provide then with supper as well. It was obvious that the event had brightened the spirits of their party immensely and allowed them to forget their troubles, if only for a few hours.

In the circumstances she had no balldress, nor did the other women, but she thought the white spotted muslin gown with puffed sleeves she had borrowed from Sarina Beckett whom she shared a room fitted her tolerably well.

From across the room Harry spied Ruth in the arms of Doctor Goodman. The fellow was respectable enough but he had seen him dance with her not twenty minutes earlier. And the Doctor had fetched her a second helping of dessert. Surely he aware that it was rude to monopolise a lady in that way, that it could lead to all manner of speculation and gossip which could undermine her reputation?

It was time for him to take action.

He approached the dance floor and tapped impatiently on Dr Goodman's shoulder.

"Allow me," he interrupted, giving Dr Goodman a quelling glance and then stepping into the place he had once occupied. With that he whirled Ruth away to the centre of the room, firmly enclosed in his arms as the music rose and fell.

The Doctor was left staring after them with the puzzled expression of one who has suddenly been pickpocketed but he has no recollection of how the crime could possibly have occurred.

When the dance finished Ruth was left quite breathless by the vigour with which Harry brought to the walz.

"Would you do me the honour of joining me for a walk in the courtyard Miss Evershed, I find it a little hot in here?"

Ruth blushed, surprised by his question. "Err," she stammered, trying to catch her breath.

"You do appreciate – after all these years of working for me – that I don't bite, I take it?" Major Pearce questioned dryly.

"Of – of course," Ruth replied, quickly, wondering why he wished to see her outside. Did he have a military matter of importance to discuss with her perhaps?

He proffered his arm, which she took and they headed for the door to stroll in the courtyard. "We have now known each other for some time, Ruth," Harry began, his opening statement sounding innocuous enough.

Ruth murmered her agreement, "quite some time, yes."

"And in that time I have formed a favourable opinion of your character. I have observed that you have certain unique qualities that are to be admired and that are rare to encounter these days. You are, I believe, well suited to a military life, which cannot be said of many women."

It was fortunate that the darkness of the night covered her blush, Ruth reflected, for Harry's words made her feel wildly giddy – an emotion she knew was wholly out of place in the circumstances.

"It is very kind of you to say that, Major. I would like to think that I have adapted to life in the army," she replied quietly.

"Indeed," Harry replied, releasing her arm and turning to face her, "It is my –"

"Sir! Sir I have news from Oudh," a soldier interrupted, running across the courtyard with a piece of paper in his hand.

"The native soldiers in Lucknow have turned on the British forces and are attacking them. The residency has been fortified and our people have taken refuge there but they are presently under siege and have requested reinforcements," he panted, delivering his news in a hasty rush of words.

"Is Sir Henry –" Harry began, keen to hear that his old friend Sir Henry Lawrence, the British Commissioner had survived the attack.

"Alive, sir," the soldier interrupted. "He's alive, aye. But they cannot hold out for ever and have requested assistance. There's over a thousand of our people holed up inside the residency, half of 'em women and children."

"It sounds very grave," Ruth breathed, looking from the soldier to Harry. "Could we appeal to the Rajah to raise more men to help them?"

"I don't know if we shall succeed, but I shall do my damndest to try," Harry exclaimed, his face taking on a stubborn expression. "Even if I have to offer up Queen Victoria's firstborn in exchange for their men, I shall secure their support."

He turned to Ruth, "you must excuse me Ruth, for I must speak with the Rajah. I wish to arrange a series of visits."

Ruth nodded, "of course," and smiled bravely. She had someone gotten the impression that Harry had meant to say something important to her. The arrival of the soldier had cut short their conversation and now Harry would no doubt be undertaking important visits for several days if not weeks, leaving her alone here to bide her time.

She dwardled back to the hall, feeling rather deflated. Once she reached the door, she absently shook her head, thinking to herself it was late and decided to head for her room instead, removing the green ribbon she had tied her hair bun with as she went.


	19. Chapter 19

**Joanna, Patwari: 22 May**

She is back at the house where Zafar had offered her refuge now, and though the men have gone she still feels unsafe.

After the soldier had finished with her, he had left her door unlocked. It was plain he cared little whether she lived or died, and didn't give a damn about what she did with herself. After a few minutes she gathered the courage to leave the room to find that the house was deserted.

In the next room she had seen what had become of her friend. A _terrible_ sight! She could no longer distinguish his bloodied features and the young man who had once been so full of life was now silent, cold and unmistakably dead.

Inside the house where she has returned to she lives a listless existence.

She wonders whether it is her imagination or not but as the days pass it seems to her that the native woman eye their two English guests with increasing suspicion. Where is the Sahib she can see them thinking? He was last with her and now has disappeared and yet, they the ferengi, the foreigners, the unwelcome guests, are still here. She thinks they might turn on them, expose them, hand them over to the locals to do with them what they will. But where could they go?

She counts the days. Two weeks pass, then a month. She is thankful to find she is not pregnant, for that would be entirely too much for her to cope with, on top of her current problems.

Six weeks go by. Still the servants keep feeding them, setting out their clothes, running them baths. It feels stifling inside the house, and she is constantly watched. She can feel paranoia creeping in. She sleeps badly, her dreams interspersed with memories of Zafar's young face haunting her, her friends brightly coloured muslin dresses spattered with blood and the body of a soldier on top of hers. Feelings of panic start to rise when she wakes, recalling his face which is ugly with a mixture of desire and hatred as he forces himself inside her.

At night when the house is quiet she cries for no apparent reason. She can't seem to stop herself and stifles the sound by turning her face against the pillow so that Mrs McDonald won't hear.

But most of all she misses her brother. The same brother who made his last ill fated stand in a Meerut courtyard seven weeks ago and is now rotting under the heat of the Indian sun, though she doesn't know it yet.

She longs to go outside. During the day sometimes she stands still and closes her eyes, trying to remember what it felt like to have the breeze on her face. At night she presses her face against the window and peers at the stars, wondering if she will ever see them again, properly, on the outside, instead of here, locked away where she can't breathe.

She has been in the house for ten weeks and she reasons it must be August when Mrs McDonald develops a temperature. Jo sits by her bedside with a damp cloth on her forehead to keep her cool. She holds her hand and recites the lord's prayer when Mrs McDonald asks her to, which is often.

Mrs McDonald's illness leaves her weaker and more exhausted by the day. On the fourth day she takes on a ghastly grey pallour, and though Jo is not a doctor, she is fairly certain that she can read the signs, and they are not promising. On the morning of the fifth day when she wakes up at Mrs McDonald's bedside she finds her cold and still, her battle over.

Jo forgets to eat that day, and barely manages to dress herself the next.

In the end there is no violence to her expulsion as she had feared. One of the servants simply walks into her room the day after Mrs McDonald's death and tells her she must go, then turns to leave. She knows that they fear that she is ill, because she has been shut in the room with Mrs McDonald for a week, that she will spread disease throughout the house. She can't tell if they are correct, because she doesn't know what Mrs McDonald died of.

She returns to her room and finds several roti wrapped up in a piece of cloth on her bed.

She packs her megre belongings – the dress she wore when she arrived, her undergarments, the roti and the little gifts Zafar had bestowed on her – a dozen thin golden bangles, a white sari and blouse, and a handsome wooden comb, quickly and quietly. His final gift to her, a Mediterranean blue silk sari he said she would find cooler and more comfortable than her dress, she is wearing.

When she is done packing, she pulls the sari around her hair to hide its colour and leaves without a word from the side entrance of the house - to where she knows not.


	20. Chapter 20

**Lucas, August 13: Sorkha**

Lucas scanned the horizon for signs of soldiers. After a few minutes he dropped his gaze, relieved that he could see none.

Major Pearce had sent his on a reconnaissance mission to ascertain whether there were any groups of native soldiers in the vicinity.

It was been six weeks since he had arrived in Delhi and the situation was considerably worse than he'd feared. He had arrived to find the sepoys had revolted against their superiors and have taken the city, installing Bahadur Shah, the Mughal Emperor of India, as their leader. What was left of the British army had retreated to Karnal, to regroup, before laying siege to the city in an attempt to recover the symbolic heart of their Empire abroad.

Conditions at the camp were grim - disease had taken hold and their position was precarious, as they were under constant threat of attack - but still they held their ground, hoping that relief from Britain would come soon.

His fellow officers had suffered much over recent weeks, they had seen their colleagues cut down and in many cases their families had been murdered in cold blood. He had not escaped from the conflict without a scar either for his younger brother Janif was missing. Lucas had tracked down his house, a little outside the city, but there had been no sign of Janif, and no one could confirm what had happened to him. It seemed likely his half English blood might have been his brother's downfall and it made him sick to think that Janif's life may have ended the same bloody manner as so many of the soldiers he had encountered on his journey.

Here on the Delhi plains, today his job was to gather intelligence about whether any further attacks were imminent and he hoped to be able to return to the camp with the news they were not. He travelled in native costume, with a dagger in his trousers, and was careful to avoid coming into close contact with anyone.

Lucas turned and started to make his way back towards the path he had followed across the land. He could feel the air was heavy with moisture and the sky had started to turn dark, for it was the monsoon season. Soon the rain would arrived in a sudden downpour, drenching the plains.

A small stone structure caught his eye. It was ornately carved but only a few metres wide and was clearly very dilapidated. He could recall seeing these structures in India before as a young officer. The local people avoided these ruins, relics of ancient times, believing them to be inbueded with angry spirits, but he had no such inhibitions.

He stepped inside the ruin, thinking perhaps he could find shelter for an hour until the rain passed. Inside, he soon found that he was not alone, for lying on the stone floor was a woman, her body swathed in blue silk. She seemed to have been resting, lying with her head pressed against the floor, but he observed that though she stayed still her body tensed on his arrival. Strangely she did not get to her feet but stayed where she was, her eyes pressed shut, feigning sleep.

His eyes had adjusted to the gloom now and he looked at her more closely. It was becoming clear that she was not who she ought to be. An older woman might perhaps have sought refuge here, unwanted by her family, but a young woman would have a husband and family to care for and would not in any case have wandered about freely by herself, and she was clearly a young woman. And fair – too fair for an Indian.

He stepped forward, his hand brushing the sari back from her head as he uncovered her hair. Her eyes opened immediately, revealing wide blue eyes and she clutched at the sari defensively, No one could now mistake her for an Indian, for her hair was a light blonde colour and her eyes a brilliant blue.

"What is your name?" he questioned, staring down at her.

She looked up at him, startled. His accent was unmistakably English. Before she hadn't had a chance to study him, she had seen his outfit and his height, and panicked, shutting her eyes, convinced he would do her harm. Now she saw that he also had blue eyes – and a gaze that was quite mesmerizing. He was very tall, with tanned skin and jet black hair, and he was watching her impatiently. He might be English, though his clothes were not, but there was something harsh about him that frightened her.

"Joanna Carter," she replied, nervously pulling the folds of her sari around her and getting to her feet.

"And how did you come to be here, Miss Carter?," he questioned.

"My brother and I live in Delhi but we had to leave because of the soldier's revolt and the bloodshed. He brought me to stay with a friend of his who lives near here, but I cannot stay there any longer. I was trying to make my way to another friend's house."

Lucas surveyed her silently, his brow furrowing. It seemed unlikely she would get far by herself. Though she was dressed in a sari, she was too fair and those eyes would certainly give her away.

He felt like cursing out loud, but controlled the urge and ran his hand through his hair distractedly. This added an unexpected complication to his plans. He couldn't leave her as she was, for she wouldn't survive more than a few days by herself, given the hostility of many of the locals. He would have to make arrangements for her. But a military camp awash with disease was hardly a suitable place for a lady. What on earth should he to do with the girl?


	21. Chapter 21

**Ruth, Karnal: 17 August**

Ruth sat in the shade of the Rosewood tree, fanning herself as she picked through the pages of a familiar novel. Though she knew well enough the outcome of Pride and Prejudice she couldn't help delighting in the witty observations of Jane Austen and in the charm of her characters, who had by now become like old friends to her.

She had reached the proposal scene where Mr Darcy is rejected by Elizabeth when she looked up to see a young girl standing in front of her, rocking from side to side with her hands behind her back. Her expression was one of barely suppressed excitement.

"Namaste," Ruth greeted the little girl, waiting to see what the cause of her excitement was.

"Namaste," the girl replied, smiling, then produced a letter from behind her back. "For Miss Memsahib,' she added as she gravely placed the letter in Ruth's hands.

"Shukriya," Ruth replied, thanking her, and offered her one of the sweets her friend had left out here with her.

The girl accepted one with a grin and having accomplished her mission skipped off back to the Palace, disappearing into the lush garden canopy.

Ruth turned over the letter, her heart skipping a little as she recognised the handwriting on the exterior, then opened it.

_13 August_

_Delhi_

_Ruth, _

_I hope this letter finds you well. I have been very negligent in not writing to you sooner to let you know how we are faring, but as you can appreciate communication is difficult. We have been in Delhi for two months now and the rebels still hold the city. It is a wearying business but we must continue to hold our position. _

_I am afraid that the news is not what you may have hoped. After we arrived we launched an attempt to retake the city but they rebels proved too strong for us. To speak frankly it was bloody mess. When that proved unsuccessful we set up camp on the outskirts of the city. We have lost several dozen native soldiers to the other side and I am afraid that we will likely continue to lose more. _

_Most worrying of all has been the illness which has swept the camp. The monsoon and summer heat has created fearful condition for cholera to thrive in and we have had over 40 deaths already, with many more of our men stricken down. As far as I am able I have tried to keep the news of the disease hidden from our enemy. It would be fatal for us if they were to appreciate the true gravity of our predicament. _

_As you might imagine we are all hanging on for some relief in the form of British troops – whether they come from the Crimea, from the south or from England I do not care, so long as they come soon. _

_Through these long days I feel an old man, though I remind myself that I still have vigour and good health. _

_It is my fondest hope that you will keep safe and stay as always my dear Ruth. _

_Yours etc _

_Harry. _

Ruth put down the letter, her hand moving to her throat. Harry's hardships felt like a physical pain to her and she felt guilty that she was here, safe and protected from the horrors he was experiencing.

She wanted to go to him, to save him from the situation, but she knew that she was being foolish. It would hardly help things if she was to go to Delhi – for she would just be another body to feed and another potential victim of sickness or hostility for Harry to worry about.

She must find some way to help Harry from where she was, something to keep her busy.

She would think on what that could be and try to put Harry and the terrible anguish he was causing her from her mind.


	22. Chapter 22

**Jo: 14 August, Noida**

"You will be safe here," Captain Lucas North says as he closes the door and puts Jo's meagre bundle of possessions on the rosewood table.

Jo looks at him doubtfully, uncomfortable by the way their footsteps echo on the marble floor of the house they have entered.

"Where are we?" she questions, moving forward to touch the small copper elephant that sat on the desk at the side of the hall. She remembers that in the east, elephants are considered to bring good luck, especially if their trunks are up, as this one is.

She strokes its smooth skin absently, feeling suddenly exhausted. They had waited until dusk to travel and then walked over ten miles by nightfall. Now, she could see the red light of dawn through the narrow arched windows of the hallway.

"It is my brother's house," Lucas says shortly, in a voice that didn't invite questions.

He had visited the house several times in search of his brother but he was clearly not here and there was no trace of where he had gone.

Jo looked up, scanning the house for any sign of the brother, but could see none.

"You should sleep," Lucas says. "Do you want something to eat too?"

He was here five days ago and had found the kitchen amply stocked.

She shook her head, "no thank you."

Lucas moved down the hall way, indicating that she should follow, until he reached one of the rooms which led off it.

"There," he pointed. "You can rest in there."

She nodded, "thank you, Captain."

He shuts the door and she sinks down on to the soft silk covered bed. Her head feels heavy and when she closes her eyes it feels like she is falling.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lucas can't get the measure of the girl.

She is polite, well spoken, but also quiet. He can tell she is not silly, or possessed of the ridiculous pomposity that affected many ladies of the upper classes. It was clear that the people of Delhi had seen some terrible sights in the past few months and he wondered what exactly she would have seen, what she had experienced.

He hasn't slept at all that night. He can't during the daytime, has trouble sleeping even at night, after his time in Russia.

He doesn't see her when she wakes after lunch, for he is in the field opposite the house, surreptitiously gathering fruit from someone else's land.

When he returns to the house he finds her in the covered courtyard, sitting on the step of the central pool with her back to him and her hand dabbling in the water.

She tenses, but does not turn around. "Hello."

He moves to stand in front of her and she looks up at him. "Hello," he replies.

She is perched on the edge of the pool and her blue sari falls elegantly across the tiles.

He watches her hands in the water. They are still now, but the mosaic tiles on the bottom of the pool cast coloured hues in the water.

She wonders if the brother he spoke of earlier lives here at all. And if he doesn't live here, what has become of him?

He offers her one of the pomegranates he has picked and she accepts gratefully. "There are mangoes too," he adds.

She nods, "I like mangoes."

She stands up, brushing down her sari. "Shall we have lunch?" she asks, having checked the kitchen earlier for supplies.

The words sound so mundane, and imbued with a comforting routine that reminds her of better times that she smiles at the sound.


	23. Chapter 23

Captain North leaves her unceremoniously alone on the same day they arrived at his brother's house. After lunch he rises and tells her he has to leave and will be back in a few days, but doesn't say where he is going.

She asks him if she should expect his brother to return.

A shadow crosses his face and his reply is curt. "I fear not."

She passes a week in solitude in the house owned by absent brother of Captain North. She finds a companion in the black cat that visits the house and dabs his paw into the courtyard pool, hoping to catch one of the quicksilver fish. She names him Whiskers.

With no one but Whiskers to keep her company she finds herself thinking of Adam – where he might be, what he might be doing. She is afraid for him, but she feels that perhaps, just perhaps he might have somehow survived the chaos which has befallen the country. She reasons that if he were alive he would not now know how to contact her and that gives her hope that he may be living.

She begins to think about how she might find her brother, half formed schemes filling her daydreams which she later reluctantly discards as too risky.

After nearly a week has passed Captain North returns, carrying rice and lentils and fresh goat meat, along with a complement of spices. It is clear that he is exhausted, but he shrugs off her concern as if it doesn't matter. This time he announces that he will stay for dinner and sleep in his brother's room but that he must leave in the morning.

Soon after he arrives he goes into the library and spends several hours there, only emerging around dinner time.

Jo cooks again, this time lentils and rice with spices in what she hopes passes for a lightly spiced curry.

If Lucas doesn't like it he never says. Afterwards they sit at the table drinking tea and she realises that though they have conversed for over an hour he has managed to tell her next to nothing about himself, though she has asked all of the right questions, albeit in a subtle way.

He doesn't tell her about the battle for Delhi or about the survivors hanging on for reinforcements in the British camp. He doesn't tell her about the cholera or the defections. He is afraid he might lose all hope if he had to put into words their situation.

He doesn't tell her about his family, or mention his Janif, his missing brother.

He does finally come to the point of his visit.

"I have news of your brother, Captain Carter."

The remark catches her off-guard and she stares at him, wide eyed and attentive.

When he tells her that her brother's body was discovered among the slaughter in Meerut by one of the few sepoys who had managed to escape the city she doesn't believe him.

"No."

Her voice is abrupt and her denial complete.

"He is alive," she adds. "He has to be."

Lucas turns to look at her. She says the words like a challenge and there's something about the set of her mouth, the look in her eyes and the fall of the hair that feels like he's been punched.

She's Elizabeta – only she's not. The way her chin has taken on a determined set and her unwavering conviction is Elizabeta all over, but she is different too. Elizabeta was small with dark hair and eyes, and this girl is tall and slender and fair with eyes that are a deep sapphire blue. Objectively she is nothing like Elizabeta, though admittedly she is the closest thing he has seen to Elizabeta for several months, so it must be his mind playing tricks on him.

She gets up suddenly, as though it is clear that the conversation is at an end, and moves to her bedroom, closing the door after her.

xxxxxxxx

Lying in her bed that night she doesn't sleep. By 12am she has come to accept that Captain North is an honourable man, that he wouldn't lie and that he is telling the truth.

It is at this point that her world comes crashing down. She had sustained herself over all of the hurts of the past months – through losing her friends in Delhi, through the loss of Zafar and Mrs McDonald to illness, through surviving the shame of living through what the soldier had done to her instead of dying with her honour in tact. But the loss of Adam brakes her.

Her pillow is wet with tears and when she tries to sleep her thoughts start to whirl and there is no rest.

She gets up from her bed, wrapping a thin shawl around her cotton chemise petticoat. As she makes her way down the hall to the kitchen suddenly everything becomes clear to her.

Lucas has a pistol. She has seen it – a shiny metal object, heavy and unmistakable. That would be her solution.

Nobody cares whether she lives or dies, no one will miss her. Nothing matters anymore. All her life she has had to think about others but there is nothing and no one left and yet she is still hurting.

She doesn't have to consider other people anymore. She can end it – it will be fast and simple and will take away her pain.

She pushes open the door to Lucas' room. Her footsteps fall softly on the floor, and her petticoat swishes as she moves to reach into the clothes he has discarded onto the chair beside the window, her fingers searching for a heavy metal object.

It feels unfamiliar as she picks it up and her heart starts to beat faster once it is in her hand.

She has had it for only a few seconds when there is a sudden movement in the darkness and Captain North is standing in front of her. He is only half dressed and his outline looks gaunt in the moonlight. He is too tall and seems somehow sinister in the dark.

"Give me the gun," he instructs, his voice calm and level and compelling.

She shakes her head, looking at him defiantly. Her hand starts to tremble, but her grip remains firm.

He repeats himself, more gently this time, but still she refuses.

He seems to consider her response for a moment before surprising her by lunging at her, pinning her to the ground. His knee lands between her legs and her body goes rigid with shock, and then she starts to shake. "Please," she gasps, the words spilling out of her, "don't do that to me."

In the half light she sees him looking at her strangely, then he takes the pistol from her, uncurling the weapon from her now limp fingers with ease. His assault is like a horrible replay of the soldiers attack on her, but it is over almost as soon as it begins.

He picks himself up off the floor and she pulls herself into a small defeated ball. The sound of screaming replays in her head as she imagines the last few hours of her protector and friend once again. She cannot stop shaking and her body feels like a traitor.

Lucas moves to light the candle sitting by his bed, then leans against the door. She can feel him looking at her and she knows it must be obvious that she's been crying earlier.

"You understand that I do not mean to hurt you," he says eventually, "only to protect you from hurting yourself."

She nods. "I know."

"I am sorry for the loss of your brother and for any troubles you may have suffered during the unrest," he says, and his voice sounds curiously formal. "I cannot comprehend the extra dangers a lady may be exposed to during such times as we have seen. I am however most willing to settle a score with any man that has caused you any dishonour," he added.

"I am not sure I understand you Captain North," she replies faintly, pulling herself to sit upright.

He frowns, and steps forward, so that he is no longer slouching against the door. Standing at his full height he seems intimidating.

"Very well then, I shall speak more plainly. I meant that if any man has raped you, that I should see to it that he be brought to justice in the future. Your brother was a fellow officer and it is my duty to see that your honour is protected when he can no longer do this."

She feels her face flush and his words make her feel ill. He has reminded her of the two things she most wanted to forget – Adam and _that_. She had thought that by now everything would be over, she would be dead and she wouldn't have to offer explanations to anyone.

But this man seemed to know what had happened to her, thought it was a tightly guarded secret, without her even saying a word.

She doesn't know what to say and she doesn't look at him. He has caught her off guard and he is too astute to be fooled by an unconvincing denial. She presses her hands together – a movement to fill the silence.

He steps forward and offers her his hand, "allow me to help you to your feet."

There is no doubt that the Captain is a gentleman. Though the tears start to blur her eyes once more she knows she cannot turn him away for he is all that is left of a world she once knew. She puts her hand into his and hopes that he will find a way to forget the shameful things he had uncovered about her. She only wishes that he would try to be less like a stranger and more like Adam.

xxxxx

Lucas puts her to bed on the ottomon sofa in the sitting room, dropping a shawl over her.

He knows enough to know this girl should be been simple, uncomplicated. She may have been, once, but she's not now.

He locks his gun in the cabinet and places the key underneath one of the jars in the kitchen on the highest shelf he can find out of her reach. He stays up that night to watch her, eventually dozing upright in the chair by the door.


	24. Chapter 24

**Tariq: 25 August, Delhi Outskirts**

Private Tariq Masood rested his back against his pack, eyeing his cards with dissatisfaction. He had been dealt a poor hand and the chances of his winning this round were not promising.

He turned in his hand and got up to survey the view. The Delhi plains were flat and fertile in the Monsoon season, a sharp contrast to the rough terrain of the land to the north he called home.

For the six months since he had joined the army, he had been stationed with the Corps of the Guides stationed on the North West frontier of the Empire near Peshawar. Across the border lay the hostile lands of Afghanistan, a country the British had tried and failed to tame without success.

It had been nearly a month since news of the rebellion in the Punjab had reached his commanding officers. Within two days of the news arriving, his regiment had set off to attempt to relieve their fellow officers. It had been an epic march for they had traversed over 600 miles in only three weeks. The mid summer climate had been sweltering, and majority of the soldiers had been unable to eat during the day for August was also the month of Ramadan.

Under the command of Brigadier – General Nicholson, who had started their journey a Colonel but already the stuff of legend, a man with the spirit of a lion and nerves of steel, they had marched, they had persevered through adversity, they had skirmished and they had won.

During the last week of their journey the monsoon had broken and the rivers of the Indus Valley had swollen, making river crossings a dangerous prospect for the soldiers.

Thankfully for the past few hours the rain had subsided, but his young body still bore evidence of their journey for his feet had blistered and cracked from the continual marching. He understood well now why the Corps was known as one of the elite forces in India.

The hunger was beginning to knaw at his stomach now, and he knew it would be several hours before the light dimmed and he would finally be able to break his fast. Within a few minutes the call went up for the soldiers to hit the road once more, and the Hindu troops and European officers quickly grabbed whatever lunch they had left and rejoined their fellow soldiers.

Delhi, he knew was not far now, for Captain William Arthur, one of his superiors, had told him so and had been stationed here before and knew the country well.

An hour later amongst the gathering storm clouds, they could make out the fort a top the city in the distance. Men spoke to each other in whispers, if they spoke at all, and the humidity seemed to hang heavy in the air.

As they moved closer the noise became louder. It was a rolling thunder of shell fire, and the earth vomited flame, and the sky was alight with bursting shells. It seemed as though nothing could live, not an ant, under the storm of artillery fire.

Then the heavens opened up. The heavy black cloud darkening the sky broke into a torrent of rain and they marched on as the deluge turned the road to a thick mud.

When they reached the battle all was chaos. The assault had begun by shell and rifle fire and was followed by bayonet combat where the British fought with bayonets and swords against their former comrades like rats in a sewer against an enemy they could hardly see.

The sepoys came at them in a rush, one wave following another, shouting at them, their dark faces illuminated now and again as shells lit up the sky.

Tariq had never heard of a battle which ended with every man dead, but it seemed to him that that would be how this fight ended – it seemed impossible that this could end with either side claiming a victory.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"You alright lad?," Captain Lucas North asked, wiping the mud from his cheek as he walked over to the young soldier perched on a large metal gun.

"Yes sir," Tariq replied, his wide eyed stare belying his words.

"Very well then. As you were soldier," the Captain nodded. "And make sure to get yourself something to eat then when the supplies arrive," he added, kindly.

Tariq gazed at the muddy field in front of him uncomprehendingly. The rain had eased now, but this landscape was still completely foreign to him. It was hard to believe but they had actually won the battle, though no less than eight of his friends lay cold and lifeless on the ground in front of him. When the Indians gave up the struggle their dead were twice as many, and they were strewn across the field, hundreds of lives extinguished in a matter of hours.

One of his friends had told him of one regiment, the 27th, who had been fully extinguished in the conflict. He thought that this day would be likely to feature in his dreams for many nights to come.

Lucas turned his back on the British camp and continued his search. It had been over an hour since he'd seen or spoken with Harry and his absence from command was alarming.

After nearly twenty minutes of searching he finally found what he had been looking for. An officer, a major according to his stripes. He was down, and badly wounded as evidence by the dark red stain that spread across his shoulder. Lucas knelt down on the ground, oblivious to the mud.

He took his hand, bending over to find his pulse, praying as he did so that he wouldn't have to bury one more friend this day.


	25. Chapter 25

**Jo, Noida: 27 August**

After what she has termed in her head 'the incident' between them, Captain North stays another night in the house. He is kind to her, in an absent minded way, but it is clear that he also has places to be. He tries to hide his impatience, but she sees it in his movements when he thinks she isn't watching, the drumming of his fingers on the table, the way he paces to and fro in the courtyard, his mind busy with matters which he won't talk to her of.

She grows to like him, for he is clever and considered and always gentle with her, though he still doesn't tell her anything about himself.

On the third day she wakes to find him gone, leaving only a short note telling he will return as soon as he can. She wanders the house, picking up the books off the shelf. The English books she finds a little too high brow for her tastes, while the Arabic books are intelligible to her but she likes the beautiful colour illustrations and sits in the apse by the window in the sunshine drawing her fingers over the pictures. When her back starts to ache she visits the courtyard to watch the fish as they dart back and forth at dizzying speed.

All this is better than doing nothing, she reasons, for doing nothing will leave her alone with her thoughts. Sometimes she can't help but think of Adam though, and of Delhi, and then she squeezes her eyes shut and wraps her arms around herself and tries to think of the happy times with her brother.

Four days after he left, Lucas turns up at the house once more, like the proverbial prodigal son. He looks relieved to find her still alive but he is tight lipped as ever when she asks where he has been.

He tells her that he was only able to obtain a few provisions this visit, showing her some split peas, bananas and nuts. When the British were in command they controlled the supply of food and she wonders how bad things might be on the outside now they were gone. Would there be famine again and how many children would die this year?

They eat and Lucas seems distracted, exhausted even.

She offers to play chess with him. Lucas is a clever man and she knows he is also an excellent chess player. Adam taught her to play when she was little and she is a passable player, though she has no where near Lucas' level of skill. She doesn't mind playing, it's as tolerable way to pass the time as any other, but she can see that Lucas loves the game

They play several games. Lucas wins the first two but she is pretty sure he deliberately lets her win the third.

Sometimes she looks up from the chess board to find him watching her with a strange expression on his face.

"Who is she?" she asks him eventually.

"What?"

"The girl that you miss that I make you think of. Who is she?," she looks at him expectantly.

He is taken aback by her question, and puts down the chess piece in his hand, momentarily distracted from the game.

"A Russian girl. Elizabeta," he says eventually, his brow furrowed.

"Your wife," Jo states with certainty.

He looks her over, assessing her before he replies. She is sharp, and it makes him wonder what else she might have surmised about him.

"She was my wife. She died over a year ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jo replies and her expression is one of genuine regret.

Lucas looks for a moment like he wants to say something, but then shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and changes the topic.

"What will you do once this is over Jo?",

His use of her name catches her by surprise for up until now he's always addressed her as Miss Carter.

"I'm not sure if it will be over first, or if we shall be," she replies, giving her honest summation of their situation.

"I see you are a realist them," he says, giving her a wry smile, then adds, "though I do feel it my duty as an officer to assure you shall emerge from this unscathed, though I can't give you my word."

"It is fortunate for you then Captain North that I am a realist and shall treat your assurance with a healthy degree of pragmatism," she replies promptly.

"We understand each other then. But I would encourage you to look to the future, to a time when you can leave India and return to your family at home."

Her eyes fell on the knight, sitting square in the middle of the chess board, and she felt the tears prick at her eyes. Mama will be devastated with the news of Adam's death – he had always been the golden boy of their family, her favourite.

She thinks about returning home. England would be grey and dreary and cold. Without Adam's familiar face their house would feel strange to her, and yet India which she had once found so exciting now seemed foreign and hostile to her that she couldn't stay here.

After a minute she composes herself and looks up at him,, "After this is all over, if we make it out, you will go back to the army and follow the beat of the drum to wherever you are needed I suppose. That is the path laid out for you."

"I expect you'll distinguish yourself," she adds as an afterthought. She should have been pleased for him – she did not dislike him and he would be able to do as he wished, but for some reason the idea of his returning to the army did not appeal to her.

"And you will go back to Delhi, or better still England if you're a sensible girl and marry some worthy chap and have a hoard of children. That is the path that is laid out for you."

She turned her face away from him sharply, "I won't marry."

"And I don't think that I belong in England anymore," she replied, slowly, "or indeed that I belong anywhere in fact."

He studied her in silence, her head bent and the light casting a golden glow on her hair. That was a feeling he was all too familiar with himself, yet surely this girl was too young to feel so alienated, so tired of this world.

He sat back in his chair and his thoughts returned once more to Delhi and the battlefield he had left behind him. This night was a brief respite in what would be, he was sure, a long campaign.


	26. Chapter 26

**Ruth: Delhi outskirts, 1 September**

Ruth disengaged her arm from that of the soldier who had escorted her and gathered her cotton skirts, fairly flying towards the stone building the officer had pointed out as the makeshift hospital.

Upon entering the hospital she almost gagged. She had never been faint hearted and had witnessed many unpleasant scenes during her time attached to the military but the stench that greeted her as she entered this place was completely overpowering and utterly vile, making her reach for her handkerchief and dry retch into it momentarily.

After a minute she recovered, sternly pulling herself together and telling herself that now was not the moment to permit failure. As her eyes accustomed to the darkness of the interior she took some time to pity the sorry inhabitants of this place, for it was no more a hospital than she was a doctor. Before her lay perhaps twenty men, lying upon bare stone floors. It was clear the army hadn't the provisions to provide the men with the comfort of a bed, and not one person was in sight to attend them, though they were all clearly in a very bad state. Most had severe battle injuries, arms or legs missing and their missing limbs had been bandaged with whatever was at hand.

Something had to be done about this place, and she would see that it was done, even if she had to do it herself. But first she had to find Harry.

She moved towards one of the men, who seemed lucid though he was clearly very drunk and held a whiskey bottle in his hands.

"Do you know the whereabouts of Major Pearce, sir?" she enquired politely, trying to ignore the reek of alcohol that eminated from him and the stump that had replaced what would have been his left leg which had now turned a horrifying gangrenous yellow- green colour. No wonder the poor man had taken to drinking.

He stared at her as if she were an apparition, then blinked. "Majorr Persssh," he repeated, slurring his words, "no idea, 'fraid."

Ruth noddled, then turned and bustled forward into the next room. She continued onwards, peering at face after face in the stifling warmth of the gloomy rooms, her palms becoming clammy and her heart starting to race. This place was too much for her and there was no trace of Harry. She picked up her skirts, scuttling forward, her eyes darting backwards and forwards along the rows of men. Those who were conscious watched her – some puzzled by her appearance, some cried out for her to help them or to bring them water, others regarded her with hostility. However terrifying she found this place she resolved that she would help them once she had found Harry.

Finally, in the third room she came to she found there was a doctor in attendance. A tired looking man in his sixties with grey hair and spectacles who turned and regarded her with surprise when she entered the room. "I'm afraid this is no place for a lady," he began, his voice brisque yet sympathetic.

"I'm looking for Major Harry Pearce. I am his private secretary and it is imperative that I locate him," she replied. She stood her ground, her chin upright and waited for his reply.

"That should take all of five seconds," he replied dryly, stepping aside to reveal that his patient was the said Major Pearce. Harry smiled up at her weakly, his face drained of colour. He looked sick and exhausted, but there was no mistaking that he was very much alive.

"Harry!," Ruth exclaimed, overtaken with the relief of seeing him. Major Pearce returned her greeting by pulling her towards the bed with his good arm and kissing her soundly on the lips, a gesture that she found completely unexpected and utterly overwhelming. After a minute she withdrew from his embrace, flustered by his public display of affection.

The Doctor watched them both calmly, and Ruth blushed, wondering what on earth she should say in this situation. He smiled back at her, looking nonplussed and then declared that he needed to go and check on another ward.

"How is your wound?" Ruth questioned anxiously, as Harry watched her, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Healing nicely, so the Doctor says," Harry replied evenly. "I should be out of this dammed place in a few days."

"Harry this place is just dreadful," Ruth replied, shivering, "why is there no one here to look after everyone?"

"The other men told me there were several men around until a couple of days ago and then some fell ill and a couple of the others abandoned us here when they heard that a fight was brewing and left in search of the action. Doctor Barnet is a good man but he can't take care of sixty men by himself. And I've only been myself this past day so I'm afraid I haven't been much good until now."

"I've a mind to put this place in order," Ruth responded, her eyes burning with evangelical zeal at the thought of taking control of the hospital, "Will you issue me with instructions to round up some men to come and help here?"

"I was thinking of doing exactly that," Harry replied. "And I think you ought to be promoted to a ranking officer Miss Evershed," he teased.

"I suppose now that you've taken the Hospital in hand there's only one question left," he added casually.

"Oh?" Ruth replied, wondering what he meant.

"Will you marry me Miss Evershed?," Harry asked, taking her hand in his and smiling up at her, as she looked back at him with astonishment.


	27. Chapter 27

**Lucas: 5 September, ****Noida**

Lucas strode on towards Noida as the sun sank lower in the sky. Within an hour dusk would settle on this vast, secretive landscape made up of endless plains.

His mind was still preoccupied with the fate of the British Army besieging the city some twelve miles to the North. The arrival of the Corps of the Guards had brought them some relief, and only yesterday a fresh contingent of soldiers had joined them from the Punjab. Their present difficulty was that, although they were beginning to accumulate the necessary soldiers, they had not the volume of artillery necessary to mount a successful assault on the city's walls. Instructions had been sent to the forces calling for assistance, but as yet they had not been fruitful. It was easy to understand why – for the British were not fighting one war but rather a hundred different battles in a hostile land.

So for the moment they must wait, for to attempt to take the city now would only result in unnecessary bloodshed. It was fortunate that patience was a virtue he had learned all too well in the bitter cold of a Russia prison camp. He thanked god that whatever troubles they had in India he was at least a free man.

As a younger man he had spent a decade stationed in Delhi and he knew this countryside well. Life here was ruled by the seasons – the baking heat of summer followed by the monsoon floods where the rivers of plains would swell in the heavy downpours. The winters gave some respite from the extremes of the summer, bringing milder temperatures.

In this area to the south of the city the population of Hindus was smaller and the Muslims made up the majority so he felt a little safer here. The Muslim population, less aggrieved under Mughal – British rule didn't generally have the burning hatred for Europeans that so many Hindus had displayed in recent months. Still, he certainly couldn't afford to become complacent and he had been careful to see that his native costume was correct in every detail.

He was now perhaps only a mile from the house of his brother. He wondered if Jo would have become anxious that he had been absent for longer than usual. He felt a sense of duty to check on her welfare, to see that she was provisioned as best he could under the circumstances. Through his time in India he himself had managed to acclimatise to the customs here, and he knew enough to dress and pass for a man from the East, but a fair haired British girl who had lived here for only a year or so had no chance of fending for herself, and this only added to his sense of obligation to see to her welfare.

As he walked along the fields his eyes caught a glimpse of something flashing golden in the ditch that drained the fields and moved closer to inspect it.

He could look for only a minute before a sudden wave of sickness overtook him and his stomach wretched. It was almost as if he could feel death's icy fingers settling over his beloved brother's body as it lay lifeless in front of him.

Not yet 20, his younger brother had been robbed, butchered and left for dead in a flooded ditch.

He ran his hands over his face, trying to block out the awful picture that confronted him and took in a deep breath as he fought for self control.

He would have to bury him. He couldn't leave him here as he was, exposed in a land that had no love for him. His father would turn in his grave at the thought of his son not being given a Christian burial.

He thoughts turned to the orchard across from where Janif had lived. That would be the place to lay him to rest where he could still see the little house where he had been happy.

And when this was over and each of the sides in this bloody conflict had settled their scores, he would have his revenge on whoever had killed his brother. He would have to wait for his opportunity to see that justice was done but he could accept that. After all he was a patient man.


	28. Chapter 28

**Ruth: 5 September, Delhi**

Ruth sighed as she continued struggling with the buttons to her sprigged muslin gown.

It was entirely exasperating that the dressmaker had decided that over twenty buttons were needed on the panel – something that she had neither the time nor the patience to attend to them.

Such garments were of course designed with no thought to practicality. Any lady who could afford a good muslin could undoubtedly afford a housemaid to dress her. But in this newly chaotic subcontinent the fact that she had no one to help dress her was the very least of the problems of her remaining compatriots.

She continued struggling with the tiny buttons attempting to fit them inside the little loops which she was convinced had been made irritatingly small for the purpose which they were intended.

Today she found herself both wretchedly nervous and filled with a sense of anticipation that made it feel as if her stomach was turning somersaults and she was the unwilling landing point.

In less than an hour she would be Mrs Harry Pearce, and the next time she would have to struggle with her buttons it would not be alone.

The thought of Harry's hands gliding down her semi clad form made her blush pink with embarrassment and she ran her hand absently over her finger. He had given her his ring from his first marriage as an engagement present and the gold felt heavy on her hand.

She looked up from her reverie to see Harry standing before her in a formal dress uniform. In his hand he held a frangipani which he leaned forward to place behind her ear. The buttercup yellow contrasted perfectly with the gleam of her dark hair

He stretched out his hand. "Are you ready Ruth?" he questioned, and his voice sounded like a gentle caress.

She nodded and took his hand as they went forth together to stand before the vicar who would make them husband and wife.


	29. Chapter 29

**Jo, 5 September: Noida**

Jo's face creases into a smile when she returns to the kitchen after her afternoon siesta to find that there is a large bag of rice, several types of fruit and a muslin cloth filled with dried beans on the table. It has been eight days since Lucas's last visit – longer than usual and she has been worried for two reasons. She has had a growing fear that something has happened to Lucas, and she has also had nothing to eat since yesterday lunchtime, for her stocks have been exhausted.

She takes one of the persimmons and bites into it, savouring its sweetness.

When she gets up she goes in search of Lucas and finds him somewhere she doesn't expect. On the rooftop courtyard which is accessed through a door that has remained locked since she arrived.

He is sitting on a ledge with a drink in his hand and he doesn't bother to acknowledge her arrival. It is hard to read his expression with only the light of the moon and the distant city to brighten the night sky.

She sits down opposite him and tries to engage him in small talk but his answers are short to the point of abruptness. She wonders if he resents her being here, or the fact that he now seems responsible for her welfare. Most likely, she thinks, but she doesn't leave.

He looks up to watch her and his eyes are cool and there is something hard – something different - about him tonight. She asks him if something is wrong but he merely stares into the distance and takes another gulp of whiskey. Lucas is a mystery. She cannot unravel him and she's certain that that is exactly how he likes it.

She sits with him in the darkness, clutching her hands together as she watches the lights from the nearby town with rapt attention. In three weeks she has not been outside, she had not felt the breeze on her face, her only respite from the enclosure of the house the covered court yard in the interior.

Up here she feels free, and so alive as she watches the lights dance in the distance. They had seen the fall of an empire here in India, and yet this continent was so ancient the British coming and going was little more than a blink of an eye in thousands of years worth of history.

He interrupts her train of thought to offer her a drink. There is only one glass, now empty and she gulps a swish of the liquid. It feels fiery in her throat and she splutters slightly, being accustomed only to the insipid wine young ladies are permitted to drink. She finishes the glass a few minutes later, enjoying the novelty of strong liquor and asks him for another which she quickly polishes off.

She wanders over to get a closer look at the lights. Whiskey on an empty stomach turns out to be a potent brew. She feels giddy with the freedom of being outside and with the relief that Lucas is back. She doesn't have to worry anymore about what she should do or how she will get enough to eat because here they are safe and Lucas knows this country like the back of his hand and he will take care of everything.

She twirls her sari and starts to whirl to an imaginary waltz, humming to herself as she skims along the roof.

Lucas looks up at the sound and instead of Jo he sees a small dark girl, with her hair tied in a red ribbon who sings as she went about their house, breaking out into the steps of the polka every now and then.

There is something so familiar, so missed about her that his grip tightens on the glass for a minute and then he sets it aside and stands to watch her.

When she spins too close to the edge he moves forward to catch her in his arms and entirely unexpectedly he kisses her. It is not a soft kiss, like a gentleman ought to, but a hard kiss filled with passion.

Her cheeks are flushed, a strand of her golden hair has come loose in the wind and her blue eyes seem altogether too wide. He knows now that she is not his wife but he doesn't let go of her. It is true that she is not Elizabeta but maybe she will stop him thinking about his brother and moreover he wants this girl, for he can see that she is something worth having, something beautiful.

After a moment she feels his hand slip into hers and then they are dancing, spinning, and twirling together on the rooftop to an orchestra that exists only in their minds. And she feels alive now for the first time in months. She is still shaking but not so much from the sense of danger but instead from the nearness of Lucas, who is, she suddenly realises, the most handsome man she has ever met, and so close to her she can feel his breath on her cheek with every movement.

This is quite different to dancing in the formality of a Delhi ballroom, for there she would be reigned in by layers of stays and undergarments, but here there is nothing between them but the layer of thin silk she is wearing and his cotton garment. His hand feels hot against her waist where the sari blouse ends to leave her skin exposed. She knows that soon her freedom will end and they will have to go back downstairs and then everything will go back to normal. She won't be allowed on the roof in the daytime and once the alcohol is gone Lucas won't dance with her again.

But Lucas doesn't stop dancing with her, his body moves closer to hers until they seem to mold into one. His body seems to know the steps to dances she's never been taught. They fit together surprisingly well, his hands slotting around the curves of her waist as he kisses her fiercely, as if claiming her.

She closes her eyes and wonders if by now she and Lucas might be the only Europeans left in the whole of the Punjab. Perhaps British troops will never arrive and they will live out this strange existence until they are exposed and then meet the same terrible fate as the rest of their compatriots.

When his hand finds her breast, her heart starts to beat louder in her ears. His mouth covers hers and his body crushes hers to the seat and she wants to scream for him to stop. But he is all she has left now and if she pushes him away she will have nothing and no one to comfort her.

On one level it feels almost inevitable that this should happen because though he is barely more than a stranger this man seems to know her far better than she knows herself and yet it isn't easy – it feels as if he is taking her apart piece by piece and she can hardly breathe.

She wonders how things came to this. If they weren't both drunk then maybe things would have been slower, gentler between them, but that is only one of the many maybes she will have to occupy her time thinking about. But Adam is gone and now it is only Lucas and how does a man connect to a woman, how do they become one except through this, the oldest and most primitive of all drives. Perhaps this is the thing that will determine her future. If there is something between them he will care for her, if she pushes him away will turn her out of this house to survive on her own again. She thinks about what it was like out there alone, remembers how it felt to be so small, so insignificant amongst the vastness of India and its ...

She looks up at him as he says something to her, she doesn't know what because she can think only that all of a sudden his voice sounds like a lovers. He is watching her, his eyes are fixed on hers and his hands smooth her hair back from her face and it makes her remember how safe it made her feel as a child when her mother used to do that. His face is serious, but kind and when he smiles at her she returns his smile.

His hands snake down to her arms and he twines his fingers in her hand. Her other arm moves to rest in the small of his back, pulling him closer.

He unwinds her sari in a few quick movements. His body is hot and heavy against hers, inside hers, and he smells of sweat and sex and masculinity. Her breasts jut against his chest and her eyelashes flutter against the stubble on his chin and everything else is forgotten as he moves over her.

In the space of a few minutes the world had narrowed to a horizon that includes only him and her.

She knows now there can be no going back between them - she has well and truly burnt her bridges and left them smouldering behind her.


	30. Chapter 30

**Ruth: Delhi, 6 September**

They lie in his tent, with their heads pressed together and Harry whispers a secret into her ear. "Do you know I've wanted to do that for a very long time Ruth?"

Although she is now Mrs Pearce and there is no cause for it, Ruth can't help from blushing in reply. Feeling bold she leans over and breathes into his ear. "And I'll tell you a secret. I've wanted to do that with you for a very long time too."

Harry feigns shock and pulls her closer. "Really? Who would have guessed mild mannered librarians could have such wild fantasies?"

Normally whenever he referred to her as a librarian, her former role at his residence, which he did to tease her every now and then, she found it rather irritating. Right now she found herself much to happy to care and she simply let out a contented sigh and laid her head against his bare chest.

Her reverie was disturbed by the apologetic coughing of a young lieutenant outside the tent, "Major Pearce?"

Harry made a noise of pure exasperation, "wait," as Ruth struggles upright and pulls her petticoat over the head, then her shawl around her, frantically trying to make herself decent.

"What is it?".

Harry seems not to care about his own appearance and ignores the discomfort of the young officer "Begging your pardon sir, but the siege artillery has arrived. 35 guns and over 500 carts of ammunition," he added, beaming. "Like to see the rebels try to match that kind of fire power."

"Yes well that is promising that it has all arrived but the war's hardly over yet, Lieutenant Howse," Harry replied dryly. "Is the Chief Engineer in attendance?"

"Sir, yes sir," replied Lieutenant Howse, drawing himself fully upright. He was still recovering from the dampener Major Pearce had shown towards his display of over enthusiasm to see the guns arrive. "He's been up this past hour inspecting the guns."

"Very good," Harry replied. "I shall be with you momentarily," he added, nodding to dismiss the soldier.

He looked up to see Ruth hugging her knees against her chest, her eyes shining with excitement. She had hardly dared hope that they might come out of this alive, that they might win.

"I take it you're not planning to sit this out then Mrs Pearce?" Harry asked.

Ruth shook her head vigorously, scrambling to her feet to look for her dress as she started to make lists in her head of the things to be done.

"Absolutely not. I could hardly think of anyone more suited to bring order to this chaos than _a librarian,_" she finished with emphasis.


	31. Chapter 31

**Lucas: 6**** September 1857, Noida**

Lucas wakes at first light to see the red light streaked across the horizon and to find an unfamiliar girl in his arms. His head aches and it takes a few seconds to recall with a sinking feeling that yesterday morning he had hoped he still had a brother and now he knew he did not.

He wonders why he never really noticed how very beautiful Jo was until last night. That he had always seen her with a professional eye, observed her as an obstacle to his achieving his objectives. She had seemed more like a burden, another problem to be resolved. It was only last night that he had looked at her properly and now it seemed impossible to him that, as a man, he hadn't responded to her earlier. Heavy lashed, large blue eyes, rosebud mouth, pink blush - each delicate detail adding to an overall picture of almost too pretty prettinesss - beauty clings to her like a moth to a flame.

Perhaps if he concentrates on watching her as she sleeps, it will keep him from imagining his step mothers face when he breaks the news to her that her youngest son is dead.

He wonders if last night was a mistake.

Most likely.

He hadn't acted as a gentleman but then after fifteen years in the military he wasn't sure he could claim to be anything other than the soldier he is. And Jo was undoubtedly damaged, but then who of the ragtag survivors of those British left in India was not?

His brother's death on top of the loss of his wife had left him with the realisation that he had nothing. But if he had her he would have something of his own, even if only for a few hours.

And he found that now that he had her, it was hard to let her go.

He turns his face towards the north, and thinks of his friends in Delhi. The warm breeze ripples across the rooftop. Eventually he puts her gently her to one side, wrapping the silk of her sari around her.

He can't stay here. He can't allow himself to be anything to anyone anymore. And he certainly can't allow himself to be distracted by a woman any longer.

He gets to his feet. He is needed elsewhere.


	32. Chapter 32

**Tariq, Delhi, 14 September 1857**

By 3pm Tariq's head was pounding.

The assault of the city had started before dawn. At 3am they were awoken by artillery fire and had waited with trepidation as one by one the siege guns broke a series of holes in the city's imposing walls.

Daylight was breaking by the time they were finally able to get inside Delhi. Everything was coloured by smoke and gunfire and the unremitting boom of gunfire.

Fighting inside the city was not as he had trained for. The enemy did not engage them in the open, and they were under attack from above.

The rebels had selected their strongholds well – holding the rooftops of the city from where they picked out the red coats of the British, firing incessant rounds at them.

Delhi was truly a great city, much larger than any he had seen before. Its people were hungry and impoverished but the vestiges of power and wealth were visible everywhere – the grand houses and official buildings, some badly damaged but many unscathed, the expansive gardens and markets.

In amongst the narrow lanes that made up the maze of the city's streets, he watched his fellow soldiers go forth, and fight and then fall to the sniper fire. It seemed impossible that they would manage to disengage the rebels from their rooftop strongholds.

It seemed incongruous, miraculous that only he of the four muslim 'brothers' in his section was unwounded, for he was the least experienced of them all – that was until he too was hit.

The shot caught him in the right thigh, and left him disorientated and weak. His leg throbbed and he watched with a curious sense of detachment as the blood pooled on the street beside him into a deep rich red colour. His throat became increasingly parched, so dry that it was almost painful to swallow. As the afternoon wore on he flickered in and out of consciousness.

He awoke to find a pair of piercing blue eyes looking into his and his leg being bound firmly with a piece of cloth. "Hold still," he was told firmly but gently as he struggled blindly against the pressure. After a few seconds he was done and the officer sat back on his haunches and surveyed him thoughtfully.

"You're from the north?" he questioned, recognising him as one of the Corps of the Guides.

Tariq swallowed and inclined his head slightly in confirmation. "Peshawar," he whispered.

"Ahh," the officer nodded. "The city on the frontier. I know it well."

"I suppose we'd best get you out off these streets," he added, wrapping his arm around Tariq's shoulder to support him as he drew them both upright.

The officer was tall and strong and took most of Tariq's weight but even so it they made slow progress. After perhaps two hundred metres they reached a modest white wooden building which embossed lettering proclaimed as Saint James' Church.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom and then he saw that they were not alone for there were a group of rag tag soldiers inside the church, some looking forlorn, others nursing injures and others standing around smoking and talking in hushed tones. "Captain North!," one of the soldiers came forth to greet his rescuer.

The two men helped him to one of the pews and then he was finally allowed to lay down.

He closed his eyes not knowing if he would awaken again in this life but hoping that if didn't Allah would have mercy on his soul.


	33. Chapter 33

**Harry: Delhi, 15 September 1857**

Harry clambered up the steps of the church and tapped on the door. "Major Pearce," he announced impatiently.

The door opened hesitantly and Harry pushed it aside and entered. A young soldier with a dirty brown jacket and beads of sweat showing on his forehead with an expression reminiscent of a panicked rodent bolted the door quickly after him and scurried back to a group of officers sitting on one of the pews.

It took Harry only a few seconds to identify his target – the blundering, blustering Major General Archdale Wilson.

"I have a message for you from Brigadier Nicholson."

"Yes?" Wilson demanded gruffly.

"He says he will shoot you if there is a withdrawal."

Their causalities were now over 1,000 men and their hold on the city was perilous. Word that Wilson was contemplating a withdrawal had reached Nicholson, who swore that now was no time for cowardice. After all these months of waiting they could not retreat now, he declared – they must hold the city or die trying.

"What?" Wilson barked, his eyebrows shooting to the ceiling. "That's quite impossible," he added, his expression outraged. "I am his superior."

"Nevertheless, he says that if you don't make a stand he will come over here and shoot you. There can be no mistaking his meaning. The Brigadier has always had a rather - direct - approach to communications," Harry added dryly.

Wilson looked back at him peevishly. Nicholson's threat was truly preposterous, but dammit the man probably would have the gumption to carry it out. And moreover, Nicholson had the support of the forces while he did not, as he'd discovered over these past few weeks as discipline waned under the hot sun and cholera raged.

Harry watched him closely. It was clear that Wilson detested the idea of being told what to do by an inferior, but Harry could also see the calculating glint in his eye that indicated that he smart enough not to gamble on this being an idle threat.

Eventually Wilson made a noise that sounded like "humpf" and turned his back on Harry, indicating he was dismissed.

Harry left the room quickly and silently, plotting his route back to be by Nicholson's side.

What Harry had omitted to tell Major General Wilson was that Nicholson's order had been given by the ailing Brigadier from a makeshift hospital erected in a deserted school near the central market. He had been hit by enemy fire and was fading fast. Even if he were to survive the next few days he would be far too weak to execute his threat.

Outside the last of the light had left the city. Where only a few minutes ago there had been cannon fire and gunshots there was now an ominous silence. Harry walked on quickly, his sword drawn ready and held close by his side. His mind turned to his wife and he prayed God that she had stayed where he had left her the day before in the company of one of his most trusted men in a deserted bungalow a few miles outside the city.

His nerves were on edge and he rounded the corner of the winding back alleyway cautiously, searching for possibly danger. It was not the first time that he had wished that the British military had seen fit to provide their soldiers with a less conspicuous uniform. While the red uniform made it easy for the enemy to pick them out by day, even in the moonlight he imagined the white stripes of his jacket would show up rather well.

He had no time to consider the matter further however for a second later he was ambushed from one of the side alleyways, as two men pounced on him – one uttering a terrifying cry of revenge.

Harry's sword glinted silver in the moonlight and its work was swift and brutal. Harry slashed through the arm of the taller of the two where it had grabbed him, then turned to the other.

The smaller man made a sound like a hiss as Harry withdrew the sword from his chest, then collapsed to the ground.

Harry paused to collect the cloak one of them had worn then stalked off into the night, feeling somewhat irritated at the impromptu interruption to his journey.


	34. Chapter 34

**Lucas: Delhi, 18 September 1857**

"What do we do now?"queried the private, staring at the three dead sepoys they had killed with their own hands that lay before them.

"We take the next street," Lucas replied grimly.

Four days of fighting had left him dead on his feet but there could be no letting up, no quarter given to the enemy.

The battle for Delhi was now a conflict fought street by street, hand to hand with bayonet and sword. Death was as familiar to Lucas as breathing and his enemies were no longer strangers – he saw them everyday – could see the fear in their eyes, smell the sweat on their skin and their blood stained his coat. At night when he slept fitfully in shallow slumber he would see their faces – young, old, Muslim, Hindu and Sikh – no one had been spared from the wrath of his sword.

Lucas drew himself upright and motioned to the men to follow him as he drew his sword and they rounded the corner, taking them further into the labyrinth of streets that made up the city's heart. In front of them they saw a cluster of sepoys, their former comrades now turned against them, dirty, bedraggled, but unmistakably dangerous, and, worse still – they outnumbered them.

Their training stood them in good stead for the rebels were quick, and within a few seconds had fired a volley of shots towards them. Lucas watched in horror as the first caught Private Habib in the thigh. He let out a whelp of pain and crumpled to the ground. But there was no time to tend to him for they were under attack with rifles and bayonets. Lucas took on a swarthy young sepoy who taunted him with chants of _kaayar_. The sepoy thrust his bayonet first to the left and then to the right. Lucas was nimble on his feet, and ducked to avoid the blow, but he was not so lucky the second time and the blow glanced his rib. Lucas stared at his attacked, his eyes taking on a steely determination and he returned the blow with his own bayonet, but this time the hit was direct – to the rebel's chest. Lucas watched dispassionately as he made a strangled gurgling sounds and then doubled over, then turned his attention to his men.

Private Nicholas Colby was under attack from both directions as two sepoys threatened him from the right and the left. The man was a skilled swordsman but Lucas could see that he was struggling and lept forward to assist him, making short work of one of the men. Around him the clang of swords and guttural sounds of men engaged in a life and death conflict permeated the air.

Once Lucas had dealt with one of the sepoys, Colby was comfortably able to take on the other. Lucas swung around to find that four of their men were down now and three of theirs had fallen.

Lucas moved to a new target, picking him the older man who was obviously their leader. His turban marked him out as a sikh, and he was evidently a strong fighter. He proved to be a challenge, but after several minutes of conflict, Lucas was victorious, while the sikh emerged from the conflict with a bayonet to the heart.

When they were three, the last two revels decided to beat a hasty retreat, turning back hastily into the alleyway to disappear like shadows in the night. Only then was there time for Lucas to gather his thoughts. Five of their men had fallen, and three of their own were down.

Lucas turned to survey the scene, running his hand through his hair. They were few and they were exhausted. They had taken over half the city now, the magazine, the city's palace, and the great mosque, but Delhi was a metropolis and every metre gained was paid for in blood. How long would the rebels continue to fight for control?

It was a question which his weary brain could now resolve at this moment. He moved to Habib, checking him over to see if he would live. Relief flooded through him as he felt the warm pulse as he pressed against his neck.

"Thompson," he motioned, indicating that he should help him move the man to safety. This battle had been won but it was yet to be determined if they could live to sustain the campaign.


	35. Chapter 35

**Harry: 21 September, Delhi **

"Sir, we've cleared the city," Captain Pengaly announced, relief evident on his face.

"Is that confirmed?," Harry questioned, his natural caution overcoming him. It was the news he'd been hoping for, but he could hardly dare to dream it was true.

"Yes, sir, truly. The nineteenth have taken the Khari Baoliand the twenty fourth have cleared the west of the city. Major O'Hara's men have routed the rebels who had taken over the hospital and the rest are on the run. We hold the city."

Harry allowed himself to relax, indeed to smile for the first time in a week. There was much to do over the next twenty four hours, but he was hopeful that by tomorrow evening he might be reunited with his lovely wife and be able to make her once more his own.

But first – he must secure the perimeters of the city, and put out orders to reign in any excesses towards drink and debauchery that might tempt their soldiers, though he fancied he might permit himself the pleasure of a glass of whiskey later to celebrate their success.

...

As he passed under the Kashmir Gates which guarded the eastern entrance to Delhi the following evening, Harry silently prayed that Ruth was unharmed. He'd left her in the care of two of his most trusted men – Corporal Arthur Norris and Captain Montgomery de Malmanche. But he was under no illusion that the countryside was safe at this time. He himself travelled under cover of night in disguise, and was well armed, for there could still be any number of rebels skulking in Delhi's surrounds.

As he moved further away from Delhi the light and noise from city faded. By moonlight the countryside has an eery stillness and it put him on guard. He looked to the moon and the position of venus twinkling in the night sky to guide him northwards.

In a little over an hour he had reached his destination, and he took from his pocket the key which unlocked the gate to the stone walled house where he had left Ruth over a week ago. He almost hummed to himself as he walked up the path, imagining the pleasure on her face when she saw him.

The house was quiet when he entered, but there was light coming from the parlour which he followed, anticipating holding Ruth in his arms in only a few seconds.

She sat with her back to him on an ottoman, wearing a light grey bombasine dress. She didn't see him at first but he saw her alright and took a few seconds to survey the scene, finding it little to his liking.

He made a sound of utter disgust before striding up to Ruth and taking the soldier whose face was affixed to his wife's face by the scruff of his neck.


	36. Chapter 36

_It's been a while since I've updated this, due to moving and also work on another non spooks fic. Anyway a short update is below. _

**Jo: Delhi, 19 October**

Three weeks had passed since she'd arrived back in Delhi. A few days after the monsoon season had stopped as abruptly as it had began, two officers had arrived at her door with strict instructions from Captain North that she was to accompany them to the city. She'd enquired what had happened to Captain North and had been informed that he'd left Delhi and was headed for Lucknow, to relieve the company there. It seemed unlikely he would return for several weeks.

The journey to Delhi had taken three hours and once they'd arrived she had been installed in a spacious bungalow with a dozen other British ladies and three soldiers to watch them. Once the rains stopped, the plains of the Punjab grew uncomfortably hot once again.

At first the ladies of the house had welcomed her to their fold and she had been content to sit with them sewing or reading to while away the interminable hours. Mrs Hawker, a sharp tongued matron of fifty took malicious delight in regaling tales of the horrors of the mutiny – how her neighbour's family had been chopped to pieces in the attack and she and her husband had escaped only by virtue of a quick flight in their barouche landeau to the city gates.

In the evenings officers would visit them as the house was one of the few places they could hope to receive a decent meal. After dinner they would often play cards, and Maria Delacourt, who had a sweet, if untutored voice, would sometimes sing sad songs of home.

In the first week thing had settled into a routine, which if somewhat tedious, at least was comforting in that it reminded her of how things had been before rebellion had broken out.

In the second week things had changed. It had started when Lottie Buiste and Evelyn Randle had been chattering in the corner with Lieutenant Howse. This had been accompanied by murmurs of shocked disapproval hushed under cover of fans and much raising of eyebrows in her direction.

The next morning at breakfast no one had said a word to her, and Lottie had cut her directly when she'd asked her to pass the teapot. When Mrs Hawker arrived she made the reason for her disapproval clear. "Miss Carter," she'd said as Jo had stood to exit the room, "I think it best if you keep to your room as much as possible in the future," she began haughtily.

Jo had looked back at her unsure of what social faux pas she was supposed to have committed. Mrs Hawker was quick to enlighten her.

"It seems that your behaviour during these past few months has not been that of a lady, or so one of the officers informs me. An unmarried woman who engages in liaisons with the likes of Lieutenant Rodgers cannot be accepted here. Your presence would put into question all of our reputations," she finished, pursing her lips and peering at her distastefully.

Jo took a step back, clutching her hand to her chest. She remembered his name now. Lieutenant Ian Rodgers. The man who had killed Zaf. The same man who had raped her. She must have seen him once or twice before at a ball or a cricket game or some other occasion. Adam had disliked him quite firmly she recalled – and for good reason.

"It wasn't a liaison," she started, only to be cut off.

"Lottie heard it from Lietenant Howse, who is an eminently good natured Christian gentleman who is not given to slander. A lady's good reputation once lost is difficult to regain. I cannot allow your lack of judgement to sully the good names of the other ladies here. Why think of what an association with someone of questionable virtue would do to young Miss Delacourt's chances of marrying well - she is not yet eighteen! I am sure that you will see that the wisest course of action is for you to disassociate yourself from us."

Jo looked up at her to see Mrs Hawker's eyes narrow as she surveyed her up and down. She had briefly considered trying to explain the truth, but she hardly knew where to start. That would probably make her cry and Mrs Hawker, who now seemed entirely incapable of sympathy or pity, would probably just tell her it was her own fault anyway.

"I see," Jo replied, squaring herself, so that her chin was raised and her spine straight. "If that is the way you feel then I shall take my meals in my room and won't trouble you again."

After that she was careful to stay to her room during the daytime. It was still unbearably hot in the afternoons, and she spent her time reading or sewing, listlessly whiling away the hours, not knowing what would become of her. Her thoughts would sometimes stray to Lucas, and she wondered where he was now and whether he was safe.

In the evenings often she would sneak down the stairs and sit outside, delighting with guilty pleasure in the feel of the breeze upon her skin and in her hair, as she listened to the sound of the cicadas. Sometimes Captain John Burke, a handsome young man in his early 30s would come out to sit with her. She'd been lonely these past few weeks, and she was glad of the company.

It was hard for her to shake the feeling that she was in purgatory – waiting for outside events to resolve themselves so that her fate may finally be determined. She had spent these past few weeks waiting for Lucas to return, but now she was beginning to wonder if he ever would.


	37. Chapter 37

**Ruth: 21 September, Janakpuri**

"Corporal Arthur Norris," Major Harry Pearce barked, looking from the cowering young solider to his wife, who was blushing like a schoolgirl. "What is the meaning of this insult?"

"I, er, I did not mean…" he began. Major Pearce's face had turned dark red and the soldier looked both overawed and terrified by his outraged expression.

"Harry," his wife began. "Please, I think you're overreacting. Can we talk about this alone?"

Harry glared at first Corporal Norris and then his wife. "Very well," he snapped. "But the explanation better be good. Very good."

Ruth waited until Corporal Norris had left the room, and then turned to her husband.

"Corporal Norris is a good solider-" she began.

"Whose duties do not extend to kissing my wife," Harry added, glowering.

"A very good soldier and a very young one," Ruth continued evenly. "Who has seen most of his friends cut down these past weeks."

"Harry you know most of all know what it's been like out here," Ruth stepped forward to hold her husband's hand. "Every Englishman, woman and child left alive, of which there are precious few, has been terrified, terrorised, outnumbered and in fear of their life every day for the past five months."

Harry's temper was beginning to dissipate as he looked at his wife. He could see in her eyes what these past months of worry must have been like for her.

"I know," he said heavily. "I know it's been hard Ruth, and I'm sorry. If I could take you away from here and put you somewhere safe I would do it in a second," he replied. "But I can't."

Ruth shook her head, "I wouldn't go Harry. I would never leave you. Wherever you are is the only place I can be happy, even if there's danger."

"The kiss was a mistake Harry," Ruth started, fidgeting with her gloves. "Corporal Norris is a child. He's 19 and frightened out of his mind and damaged from this terrible fighting. I was kind to him when he was vulnerable and I think he confused that with love. He kissed me and I let him because I felt sorry for him. I was going to tell him it could never happen again when you walked in."

"Can you forgive me Harry?" Ruth asked, her blue eyes large and luminous, "Please say you forgive me."

Harry pulled her into him and kissed her firmly. "I must be smitten Ruth, because I find that I can forgive you anything so long as you're mine. Though I will be having words with Corporal Norris."

Ruth leaned into her husband's broad chest, nodding. "Thank you Harry. And please try to temper your words with an understanding of his age and our situation."

"I shall ponder how to tell him politely but effectively how to keep his hands off my wife tomorrow morning. But tonight belongs to us," Harry finished, drawing Ruth towards the door.


	38. Chapter 38

**Lucas: 26 November, Delhi **

"Captain North. Have a seat, you look done in," Major Pearce greeted his fellow soldier.

Lucas settled himself in the chair of Major Pearce's new, makeshift, office, finally allowing himself to relax. Army headquarters had been shifted to one of the city's palaces. The palace combined a still imposing air of grandeur with traces of the rebellion. Its south walls were peppered with cannon shots on the south walls and there was evidence of recent looting including the removal of the jewel encrusted lions which had proudly guarded the complex's gates before the revolt.

"We got everyone out of the residency," Lucas began his briefing. "But they still hold the city."

Harry poured two glasses of whiskey. "That's well deserved," he commented, as he passed a glass to the other soldier.

Harry sat back in his chair. "It's a miracle you were able to get them out at all. Their numbers were ten times what ours were. And that there was anyone alive in Lucknow after six months," he added, tapping his finger against the glass.

"They were fortunate that Lawrence had laid a good stock supplies beneath the residency," Lucas replied.

"India will not see his like again," Harry replied, remembering his old friend with sadness. "I shudder to think who they'll send over to run the place after this whole mess is sorted out," he added, downing the last of his glass with a sour expression on his face.

"No proper credentials needed except birth, a firm conviction in British superiority and a desire to hunt down any rebels left in the country."

"You forget the never surrender attitude and the liking for hunting," Lucas added, allowing himself to break into a smile.

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. I'd forgotten that a sound knowledge of horseflesh and being handy with a shotgun was a far better qualification than actually knowing anything about the country you will be governing."

"But anyway, enough of this," Harry said, looking over at his friend. "You must be exhausted. Get some rest, we'll talk again tomorrow."

Lucas stood up, nodding. "It's been a long day."

"A long week, a long month, a long year," Harry added.

"Harry," Lucas began. "Joanna Carter, Adam's sister – do you know where she's staying? I have a message for her. It's rather urgent."

Harry gave him a long look. He wasn't aware that Lucas was acquainted with the lady concerned. But perhaps the message had been from Adam. Joanna had been extremely close to her late brother and if that was the case, she would certainly want to hear what he had to say.

"You'll find her in Rohtak. And she is no longer Miss Carter but Mrs James Grant."


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39: Jo, Rohtak, 27 November 1857 **

"This colour is very pleasing," Mildred Alexander stated, indicating the pale blue dress in a London dress catalogue from last summer. "I've a mind to ask my Susannah to order me one from London so that it should be ready to wear when I arrive back. It's a pity I cannot wear anything with longer sleeves like that here, but of course it's so dreadfully hot. One can hardly do anything but retire to the ottoman and read here."

"I do like that blue," Jo replied. "It's very pretty indeed. Is your daughter expecting you?"

Mrs Alexander pursued her lips, "well of course I have written, but who's to say what the state of the postal service is like these days. If it is working it will be the only thing in this wretched country that is."

Jo nodded sympathetically, absently fingering the pages.

Mrs Alexander was one of the many English ladies who had lived in this country for over 30 years but had concentrated their time and effort of trying to recreate a little England here amongst the hot, unforgiving landscape of India. The rebellion had come as a bolt from the blue for her, for she'd never mingled with Indians, never been to the bazarr and communicated with her servants only to give instructions for tea and dinner. Mr Alexander and her son Daniel had both been killed in the rebellion and it was only now that the lady had fully come to appreciate how very foreign and remote this place actually was from the cosy English society she had sought to create here.

"I think this style would suit you quite nicely," Mrs Alexander said, pointing to a pale pink short sleeve spotted muslin day dress. "You have such a pretty complexion, I'm quite sure the colour would suit."

Jo blushed, and peered at the dress more closely. She had been thinking about ordering a dress actually –

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap at the door.

Jo set aside the catalogue and hurried to answer the door.

"Ohh," she gasped, staring up at the tall figure standing imposingly in doorway.

Lucas North stepped forward, removing his hat. 'May I come in?" he enquired.

Jo was standing stock still, staring at him in the doorway, looking distinctly pale. She suddenly seemed to collect herself and stepped aside, in a swish of petticoats.

Lucas took in the room. It was small and simply furnished but with pretty colours and a vase of bright yellow roses stood on the mantlepiece. No servants he noted. Whoever Mr Grant was, he cannot have been a gentleman of fortune.

"Sit down if you please," Jo said, indicating a chair. "This is Mrs Alexander. Mrs Alexander, Captain North. Captain North is – a friend of my brothers."

Captain North bent over Mrs Alexander's hand, "A delight madam," then swiftly reseated himself.

"Permit me to offer my congratulations Mrs Grant," Lucas said.

Mrs Alexander looked from one to the other, confused. It was hard to recall having seen anyone offer their congratulations in a less enthusiastic manner before. And had this Captain not heard about Mr Grant either? Poor Joanna had turned very pink indeed.

"Captain North, if I might be allowed to interrupt," Mrs Alexander began, "you may not have heard but - oh dear, this is all so indelicate and upsetting to dear Joanna, but Mr Grant is no longer with us. He was a victim of this terrible conflict, and now Mrs Grant is staying with us," she finished, patting Jo's hand comfortingly. "And we shall take good care of her, poor thing."

Jo stood up quickly, still pink, "can I get you some tea Captain North?"

"I am very sorry for my mistake," Lucas replied, though Mrs Alexander noted that though his voice was sincere, there was now a sparkle in his eyes that had not been there earlier. "I will take some tea and you must let me know if I can be of any assistance to you."

Jo smiled briefly. "That is very kind of you sir, perhaps I shall be take up your offer one day soon."

"There," said Mrs Alexander, with a smile, tapping Jo with her fan. "You have a good friend in Captain North. It is good to know that he will be around should you need his services when I have left," she finished, looking the Captain over properly.

Not only was he indisputably dashing, but evidently rather well off, and with pleasing manners. If she had been a match-making Mama, she would have pushed young Mrs Grant into his arms. But such things were not seemly with a recently bereaved widow, which was a pity.

Joanna passed Lucas a cup of tea and they chatted pleasantly for another fifteen minutes, before Captain North stood and bowed to both ladies. "You must allow me to excuse myself, ladies. Mrs Alexander – good day. Mrs Grant – I hope I may be permitted to visit you once again shortly to check on your welfare?"

Jo looked at him, and nodded. "Yes, yes of course. I shall see you out."

When they reached the door, Jo turned to Lucas. "Will you walk with me in the garden for a moment Captain North?"

"Of course," he nodded, and offered his arm.

"I like the weather of late," Jo started, "It's been very pleasing and not as horridly hot as last month I find."

Lucas looked around the garden, taking in the bright colours and lush green of the plants. It had been a long time since he'd had time to just be still and take in the scenery.

He'd turned to look at her properly for the first time. He'd thought of her every day, every night, and she was as beautiful as he'd remembered. Her skin was like porcelain, to his touch her hair had been like silk. He would make her his own, but he would have to wait. And he hated waiting.

"Miss – I mean Mrs Grant, my offer was genuine when I said I would help you if you needed any assistance."

"Captain North," Jo began, looking down. "I feel I must explain myself. When I saw you last in September I was Miss Carter. And now in November you find me Mrs Grant in so short a time."

"India makes for hasty matches," Lucas replied. He supposed it was hardly surprising that Miss Carter had been snapped up so quickly. For every Englishwoman out here there were four Englishmen, so competition was fierce amongst gentlemen for a wife.

"It does," she agreed, taking a deep breath. "But not for me. The truth is that I am not Mrs Grant and never have been."

Her legs felt positively shaky now and she quickly slid down onto the bench beside her, pulling her arms around her tight. "I am still Miss Carter. I am sorry for the deception and lies but it is a necessity."

"A necessity?" Captain North replied, puzzled, and then he understood. The rumours about Miss Carter and Lieutenant Rodgers.

He's had time to form a fair assessment of Rodger's character. He was pretty sure that along with cheating at cards, whoring and gambling away his inheritance, ruining attractive young ladies whether they consented to or not would be exactly the kind of thing Rodgers considered to be light sport of an afternoon.

Which was why he'd taken the liberty of stopping by the officer's mess last night and, finding Lieutenant Rodger's alone outside his tent, giving him a sound thrashing he would not forget for some while.

He scowled at the memory of Rodger's smirking face.

So Miss Carter had faked a marriage in order to remove herself to the country and restore her respectability. He supposed it was as good a strategy as any.

"You should know that I have spoken with Lieutenant Rodgers and he will not be spreading any further rumours about you," Lucas said. If indeed he recovered the power of speech, he added in his head.

Lieutenant Rodgers? Jo blinked. So Captain North had heard the rumours.

For shame, did everyone know about that then?

Captain North sat down beside her and took her hand, holding it gently. "I shall keep your secret as if my life depended on it, Mrs Grant. But you must allow me to say that-"

"Captain North, will you let me say something please," Jo interrupted, biting her lip. "I fear you have misunderstood my comments. I must be married not because of rumours but because…because I am to have a child and it must be seen to have a father."

Lucas stared at her, then sat back in seat, still in shock. "A child," he repeated, running his hand through his hair. "My child?"

"Yes. Your child," she replied, folding her hands together so that they did not shake. "I'm afraid so."


End file.
